A Matter of Course
by Dr. Cultural Studies
Summary: What do you treasure most? (Slow-building, different, serious take on the "globe-fic" trope. Historical.) Sequel to "A Matter of Time."
1. Prologue

This story will not make sense unless you read "A Matter of Time."

* * *

**A Matter of Course**

**By: Dr. Cultural Studies**

**Prologue**

* * *

"_History takes time. History takes memory."-_ Gertrude Stein (1932)

* * *

They thought I was asleep. I wasn't. While they stood off to the side in that quiet hospital room, I could hear their muttered and whispered words clear as day. It wasn't hard. At that time of night, well past midnight (I assumed), this particular wing of the hospital was quiet and subdued. Quiet hours. One of the voices I recognized as my mother's alto, whispering so that she wouldn't wake me. I tried not to shift in bed, though my lower back and my tailbone were aching terribly. How long had I been unconscious? Even if I wanted to, I couldn't find the strength to move. Instead, I just listened.

"—nothing about brain injuries can be predicted, Mrs. Daniels. Each and every case is unique. In her case, the damage was grave. The swelling was enough to put significant pressure on the brain, particularly hippocampus and the occipital lobe. The length of her coma has been worrisome, but now that she is awakening, it seems that those woods have passed. Now, it's just the potential amnesia and blindness. Retrograde and anterograde—"

"_Amnesia?_" My mother's worried tone made me a little anxious. "Frankly, Dr. Wilder, amnesia was the only bit that I actually understood. And that much is worrying. I'm a baker, not a neurologist. Can you put it a bit more…simply?" I couldn't help but to agree with her. The man was talking circles around me. The medical terminology was completely unnecessary at this time of night. Who was he trying to impress?

"Retrograde amnesia is the loss of events that happened before the trauma. Anterograde amnesia is the loss of short-term memory." I wanted terribly to bite my lip and then try to argue with him. I wanted to tell him that my memories were still very much intact. After all, wasn't amnesia something that only happened in Hollywood? No, it happened to everyday people. That was a stupid notion on my part. I knew my name though: Michelle Daniels. My age: twenty-four. My job: professor at Highlands Community College. Easy enough. "It's possible that she may not remember what happened to cause her injuries."

My injuries?

Right, I had to be in the hospital for a reason.

My mind whirled around all the possibilities. He said that I was in a coma. Said that there was trauma. If the soreness of my body was any indication, then I had probably been in some kind of terrible car accident. Maybe on I-70? That was always a dangerous road. Speed demons on straight-lines. Still, something didn't feel quite right.

An uneasy feeling welled in my gut.

Something was not right, but I couldn't figure out what it was.

What was it?

"—concussive force that was exerted on the brain and skull was enough to bruise the brain and cause swelling. That swelling could have an adverse effect on her cognition. It was the blow to the back of the head that caused the most damage. Our theory is that the IED sent her flying backward and she struck her head on the ground, on something hard. All of her injuries, save for the previous bruising and the foot injury, appear to be from a blast. That includes the shrapnel wounds."

A blast? My heart began to beat a little faster, thundering in my ears. He said something about IEDs. Was I in some sort of attack? How could something like that happen? My body shifted without much thought and I felt a strange fullness in my throat. Something was wrong. All of this was wrong. Why couldn't I open my eyes? I had to open my eyes.

I needed to open my eyes.

I needed to _remember._

Panicking, I forced myself to make a sound. It was guttural because the dryness and fullness in my throat was preventing me from saying anything. What I really wanted though was my Momma and an explanation. An explanation for why I felt like throwing up and why my head was hurting.

Why I felt like something was missing, that something was wrong.

Terribly wrong.

"D-Doc!"

Was that— Corey's voice? My brother.

I could remember that.

Or was it someone else?

No, maybe it was someone else.

I could think of a lot names.

Many names mixed in my mind.

Corey. Alfred. Matt. John. _Corey._

Yes, Corey.

Who—

"M-Michelle! Michelle?" Someone grabbed my hand and his fingers were ice cold. I jolted at the feel of it. I wanted to just tell them that I had been awake for a while. At least, I thought I had been awake for a while. I couldn't quite remember when I had awoken. Not too long ago, probably. Or some time ago. What did it really matter anyway? "Can you grip my hand?" Wasn't I _already _gripping his hand? It was icy. Cold. His hands were really cold. "Squeeze as hard as you can, Michelle."

I could do that. Simple enough, right?

My hand felt just as fatigued as the rest of my body and I felt like crying for a moment when I realized that I couldn't apply as much pressure as I wanted to. I wanted to grip his finger so hard that he would exclaim in surprise. Maybe if I did that then I could prove that I was alright, that there was really nothing wrong with me. All I managed was a weak pulse of my thumb inward. It was enough, though. Enough to get his attention.

"She's been showing signs for days, but, my God, she's waking up." The cold hand gripped my own and I felt something around my wrist. It was strange, restrictive. I couldn't move. Brows pulling together, I tried the other hand and it wouldn't budge. Something was wrapped around it as well. "You're restrained. We needed to keep you still. Those have to stay on."

I felt myself fade for a second, almost like I was about to fall asleep again. The sounds tunneled and then went silent before they surged back again. It was a strange feeling, like being submerged under water and then jerked out again. Somewhere in the darkness, I heard Momma's voice calling me. She had my other hand. I knew she did. I knew the way she held hands, as if the hand she was holding were the most important thing in the world. She was making sure I didn't break. That's my mother. Yeah, I could remember that.

"What's your name? Can you tell me your name?"

My name? Shouldn't they have it on a chart? Seemed like a complete waste of time to ask me something so obvious. The voice that spoke felt higher-pitched than I was expecting. I wondered if it was even my voice. Yet I could feel the pain in my throat. No breathing tube, I noted vaguely. That meant that I was in a stable coma at the very least. It seemed strange though, really strange. What did I know? Not like I was a doctor anyway. "M-Michelle."

"Last name?"

I thought for a moment. I knew it a few moments ago. It was easy enough then.

Panic tore through me and I felt heat behind my closed eyes. No, I just had to think about it. I had to keep calm and think about it. Momma's name was Denise. Denise Cavanagh. No, that was her maiden name. Corey, my brother. The Marine. Yes, he was a Marine! I could remember that. Daniela? No, that wasn't right. Don…Donna. My sister. Alfred. My brother, right? Yes, I remembered that, too. Last name—_My_ last name. Was it something with a D or a J? I felt my panic rising again. Why didn't know for sure? Then, it struck me. "J-Jones?"

There was a moment of silence and I knew I had gotten it wrong.

My last name wasn't Jones. It was something else.

I just needed a minute, a moment to think. I hated being wrong. I hated not knowing. I hated this. Who…What's my last name? That meant that I really did have some kind of amnesia. It meant that I couldn't remember things. Fear made me shift a little in bed and I struggled to keep my emotions under control. A whimper escaped me though and I felt Momma tighten her hold on my hand. My…My whole life was built on remembering things. Remembering facts and…knowing memories.

How could I not remember my own last name?

Frustrated, I tightened my fingers around both hands.

"It's alright, Michelle. It's alright. This is normal. You'll probably remember soon."

'Probably' wasn't good enough.

"Daniels," I said without thought.

That was my last name: Daniels. Michelle Daniels.

"Good, good." The doctor was likely smiling at me, but I couldn't seem to open my eyes yet. It was just too much, too much effort. My head was still hurting. "We'll slowly start getting you up, Michelle. For now, just rest for the rest of the night. We'll see about waking you up tomorrow." I couldn't find the energy to argue with him. What would arguing do anyway? Nothing. Best to just keep my mouth shut and do whatever the doctor ordered.

Still, I couldn't help but to feel like I was missing something.

* * *

If they asked me any more questions, I was going to scream. Every day it was a thunderous roar of inquiries and memory puzzles. They would show me headlines from various events to see if they could pinpoint when my memory ended. At first, I had lost was four years. I couldn't even remember getting my doctorate for a week. Then, I remembered it. Just out of the blue, I remembered writing my dissertation and getting hooded at the ceremony. I remembered a conversation with Corey the night before. He was deployed the next day. And I was showing remarkable progress from then on out. I would give them and myself that much credit at least.

Four weeks had passed since I awoke from my coma. Each day was a trial in and of itself. I could remember teaching. My family. Living in Missouri. All of my years in school. I could remember all of my motor skills—reading, writing, walking, speaking. I could remember flashes and snippets of memories from the two years I was missing, but nothing definitive. My short-term recall was not excellent though and they were always quick to test me. Some were keener than others.

"What's _my_ name?"

Rolling my eyes, I set to crumbling up a sheet of paper. When I was done, I tossed it half-heartedly at his head. He batted it away, looking after it as it rolled under my bed. "William Corey Daniels. You go by Corey." How many times did I have to repeat that? "I haven't forgotten _everything_. Besides, that's long term."

"Humor us, Shell. You're skull was practically shattered. You're pretty freakin' lucky to be alive." I twitched at the nickname, but I couldn't quite figure out why. My brother noticed though and his brown eyes narrowed dangerously. I knew that look. Sighing, I just sat my head on the pillow and waited for the onslaught. "You don't remember any of it, huh? None of it? You were gone for _two whole years_, Shelly. You gotta remember some of it at least."

"Corey," I sighed. Of my family members, Corey pushed me the most. Often he would wait until he was the only one with me, so that he could ask his questions unimpeded. It had him anxious, I could tell. "I know this freaks you out, but…I don't remember." I looked over at him, staring for a few long moments at his t-shirt. It was a deep forest green and 'ARMY' was written across the front in bold black letters. A strange feeling rippled through me, but I ignored it. "Is Alfred coming by today?"

His brows rose and I knew that I had said something wrong. I just didn't know what. It seemed like a perfectly logical question. "Who's Alfred, huh?" My eyes went wide, but I couldn't answer his question. "You've mentioned him, like, ten times since you woke up. Every time, you've asked if he's comin' to see you. Who is he?" I stared at him for a few moments and tried to puzzle out the answer myself. Just when I started to open my mouth, Corey cut me off. "I don't know an Alfred, Shelly. And I know most of your friends because of Facebook."

Unease worked itself into my chest. I gave a cautionary glance toward the monitor, watching as the heart rate sped up by twenty. Why was my heart beating so fast? Why did I feel so panicked? That kind of fear and uncertainty seemed par for the course that I had been enduring though. It was just constant fear. It was constant confusion. I had lost two and a half years of my life. To know things, but not to be conscious of them. It made me so utterly terrified that I could do nothing but stare at the wall.

"I don't know, Corey." I closed my eyes and squeezed them shut, feeling distant and lonesome in that hospital bed. "I don't know and it's…it's scary. It's weird. I—I don't know what to do. There're these things in my head that I know…I just…I can't place them with anything. Names, people, places. I'm really confused. Like all of it is there, but I can't get in. I can't remember it."

He sighed and I could hear him stand from the chair because it screeched as his weight was lifted. "And that's okay, right? It's okay not to know." I opened my eyes when his hand slid into mine. I watched him carefully, knowing that it was taking a lot of self-control for him to keep calm. "You're luckier than some, Shelly. Some people don't remember their whole lives. Or they don't remember how to walk or talk or other stuff. I've had buddies who came home from war who don't remember _anything_. You've got all that. So you don't remember whatever bad shit happened to you over the past couple years? Maybe that's not such a bad thing."

Yet he was the one asking me questions every five minutes. Not to mention the men in suits that came by every couple of hours.

"I can't answer their questions though," I responded. "The investigators will never know what happened to me. _You _won't know. I won't know. No one knows. I know it's killing you not to know."

"Which may or may not be a good thing because…Once I find out what those jackasses did to you, I'm gonna track them down and—" He cut himself off when I flinched, eyes going wide—which probably seemed to be a violent reaction. He heaved a breath and ran a hand through his buzzed hair. "It's not as bad as it _could_ be. That's the short of it."

My head shook, "No. I feel like this—_is_ pretty bad. It feels bad. Corey, I don't feel like the same person. I feel like I'm half of what I was, who I was. Whoever that was. It's not right, but I don't know_ why_ it's not right._ I'm_ not right."

There was no real way I could describe it. I doubted I could ever describe it. I felt like I was a foreign body, like I didn't belong even amongst even my own family. Even if I could remember them, the facts were always messed up and different from what I thought I remembered. Often, I was so _certain_ of the answers only to find that they were wrong, and wrong, and wrong. Each time, I felt more and more disconnected and even more frightened and utterly confused.

"_What branch of the military am I in?"_

"_Marines," _I would respond without a doubt.

"_I'm—I'm in the Army."_ Corey would give me a concerned look before moving onto the next question. _"What branch of the military is Jesse in?"_

Jesse. Jesse. Johnny.

Jesse, Corey's best friend.

"_Jesse? But…" _Confusion. More confusion. Did the confusion never stop? Shouldn't that have been past tense. _"Jesse died…in combat. Iraq. Marines, just like you."_

Now everyone in the room looked disturbed. Momma reached forward and took my hand, her head shaking just a bit. There was a comforting smile on her face, but I could see it there. She was terrified. I was her daughter, but her daughter would never forget something like that. _"Honey, Jesse's in the Air Force. He's getting his Masters in psychology right now. He reenters the service next year." _

That wasn't right though.

It didn't feel right, but who was I to contest it? So, I merely nodded my head in acceptance.

"_Do you remember—"_

"_Who was—"_

"_What kind—"_

"_When was—"_

"_Who was—"_

I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.

I don't know.

I…don't know.

* * *

**Author's Section:**

Welcome! This is the sequel to "A Matter of Time." I was so overwhelmed with the wonderful feedback and reviews on my first story. I will forever appreciate that support. I know that many have followed and favorited me over the past few weeks and I cannot thank you enough. I hope that you enjoy this story as well.

So, as I am sure you caught in the description, this will be a globe fic. That does _not_ mean that I will be following the trope conventions. I'm actively trying to work against the ideas that are set up within that genre. I have a thing for breaking convention. It should be a blast (pardon the pun). Suffice to say, there will be a globe and it will be a part of the story. As for what part it will play, that remains to be seen. (There might be a few clues in "A Matter of Time.") I set this up so it wouldn't seem to come from left field. This has been part of the plan since I started writing my first story and I hope that this will be well-received. Give me a chance here and I hope not to disappoint.

Needless to say that there will be history in this. I can't give away anything more than that. It will all be historically accurate. The topics covered will have the potential to be dark, but at the same time history can be funny as well.

Finally, romance. I will say again that romance is not my goal with this OC, but there is the potential for it. If it happens, it will happen organically and without my specific pushing for a certain pairing. And it will certainly not be a main focus of the story. It will be interesting to see what happens.

Anyway, this was the prologue. I will be updating biweekly. Updates will come on Saturday or Sunday.

Thank you! Please leave reviews/feedback/cookies. All the best!


	2. Chapter One

**A Matter of Course**

**By: Dr. Cultural Studies**

**Chapter One: History**

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_We would like to live as we once lived, but history will not permit it. _- John F. Kennedy (1963)

* * *

His name was Thomas Morgan. I only knew that because of there was near constant talk of him in the downtown area. Folks said that he was one of the best fiddlers in the southeastern United States and I believed that to be true. Every day, I walked past him on my way to work. Every day he would regale the tourists and locals with his almost unprecedented skill. He always chose a spot that was nestled between the century-old buildings of downtown, on Broadway. The breeze would float through and carry the notes off toward the corner church.

I could hear the sound drifting toward me as it did every weekday morning. My cane clicked against the concrete as I walked in the shade of the buildings, the sun only a couple hours up. Only nine in the morning, but the heat was already sweltering. The humidity was unbelievable, pressing down on my skin and chest with choking force.

Another night of thin sleep had left me feeling drained and my limp was far more pronounced than normal with that fatigue. I wasn't trying to hide it. I was never ashamed of my limp, though I always did get the occasional pitying looks or scowls. A young woman with a limp never goes unnoticed in a crowd.

I wondered why...

I slowed my pace as I approached the fiddler, dropping a couple dollars into his open case as I eased past. He was scratching out a mean tune this morning, more energetic and lively than normal. The notes hissed out while his rosin flew across the strings, worn cowboy-boot heels tapping the concrete with steady time. A couple tourists stopped nearby and began clapping along on the upbeat.

It brought a grin to my face when that fiddler shot me warm smile and gave me a grateful nod, jumping a little in a giddy jig. His brown hair seemed to shimmer in the sunlight that filtered through the buildings and morning haze. I shuffled back and continued to listen for a moment, knowing that I had a long day ahead of me. The man pulled the bow in a rapid succession of notes and gave me a saucy smirk before I started on my way again.

The smile melted off my face as I moved, ignoring the look that I was given by a passerby. The young teen eyed my cane with a critically whispering behind her hand to her friend. The violinist behind me hit a shrill note and I glanced back, seeing the fiddler give me a wink. The two girls hurried away and I continued to stare back at him, surprised by that intervention. As the teens began to pass him, he flew into the riffs from "Devil Went Down to Georgia." I noted the University of Georgia caps on their heads and smiled widely.

Nodding my head in thanks, I continued on my way.

My day was made just a little bit brighter.

With his curly brown hair and green eyes, he looked so much like…My head shook. No, I mean, he looked like someone that I knew, but I just couldn't place the resemblance. Someone. Maybe from high school? Or college? Ignoring the rush of anxiety, I quickened my pace across the street. Best not think on it, really.

It was always best not to think about it.

The museum was an unbelievably stunning building, constructed to fit seamlessly within the Nashville's convention centers and arenas. The glass front of the building was meant to convey total transparency to the potential audience, as if history was meant to be understood with such transparency. Which is impossible. Within those windows, it was clear that the space was able to house whole planes. One of those planes was suspended right above the front doors.

Established in 2000 with millions of dollars from private investors, the National World War Two Memorial Museum was one of the most technologically innovative museums in the whole country—making use of interactive exhibits to engage with its visitors (1). And I had found employment as a paid intern with the educational department of the museum.

It gave me something.

A connection.

Or a sense of belonging, though I couldn't say quite why.

I strode around to the side door and swiped my card, waiting for the green light to appear.

"You're late," a voice piped up from behind me.

Turning slightly, I felt a smile pull onto my lips. "So are you." I eyed the box in her hands. "You brought cookies?"

"Donuts," she responded curtly. "Like I would waste my time to get _cookies_." Elaine smirked at me and followed me inside, her boots clicking against the marble flooring. She looked me up and down as I slid my ID card into the reader at the second door entryway. "You're looking pretty hot today, Michelle. Got a date or something?" I shrugged, continuing down the hall. She continued behind me and I could practically _hear_ the victory in her voice. She was entirely too invested in my private life. "You do!"

Stopping, I turned on my heel and lifted my cane. "I don't. I'm grabbing coffee with my brother and his fiancee this evening. That's all." I needed to look put put together even if I was coming apart at the seams.

"Uh huh. Brother, fiance, and coffee, _right_..." Elaine echoed, sounding utterly unconvinced. Nodding my head as if the issue were settled, I shuffled down the corridor. The dim lighting made a wave of oppressiveness overtake me, though I couldn't say why. For a moment, it was difficult to breathe.

Gunfire. Explosions. Blood.

Too much blood.

Flashes, like always.

Flashes but no _answers_.

A year later. What did it all mean?

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and willed the images away. Just like I always did. Just like I always had to do. It was getting easier. Every day, it was getting easier. Day by day, I just had to grin and bear it.

"Do, uh—" I pressed my palm to my forehead and winced at the new headache that was forming. "Do you know if they've finished the work in the archives yet? I need to start planning out the curriculum for the fall. Not to mention the lunch lectures. If they're 0 going to rotate the exhibits, I need to know. Now."

"Oh _fine_. Just change the subject, why don't you?" She huffed. As we arrived to the receptionist desk for the research center, she slid the box of donuts toward the administrative assistant and laughed. "That guy is playing Galaga. He thought we wouldn't notice, but we did." I shot her an amused glance when she leaned over the counter and yanked the buds from Paul's ears. Her blonde curls fell into her face. He gave an indignant yelp and snatched the white earphones back from her. "Hard at work or hardly working, Paulie?"

"Hardly working," he replied in kind. His eyes widened at the sight of the pink and white striped box. And he made quick work of the bow that rested on top. "You didn't?"

Elaine gave him a critical look, raising her arched brows.

He gasped, "You did! What did I do to deserve such love? Is it my dashing good looks? I didn't sleep with you, you're not my type. At least, I don't _remember_ sleeping with you…Who can say for sure? Why the love? Why the _food?_" He froze, chocolate covered donut halfway to his mouth before his brown eyes narrowed dramatically. "What do you want?"

"Nothing," she shrugged in return.

Paul looked to me for some kind of answer, but I merely smiled and shook my head. I only knew a quarter of the things that went through Elaine's head. The others were all dark matter. Hell, the things I knew were dark matter. Everything was dark matter nowadays.

"You know, it's just that you have tickets to the thing. The thing that I want to go to. The thing that's happening on Saturday. The thing that everyone in Nashville wants tickets to. And I know you have an extra ticket. And I want it." Well, nothing like the direct approach, bribery included. "I'm not above paying you handsomely, handsome."

"No can do, sweetie pie. I'm going with Oates."

"Otis? From design?" I smirked outright and caught his wink. My arms crossed. "Good for you. About time. You two have been dancing around each other for ages. Since I've been here, at least."

"Only a year…or eight months. How long _have_ you been here anywayl? Whatever," Paul retorted with a frown. He reached back and grabbed a stack of mail, handing it my way. "So, you should probably check in with Loraine and Donny down in archives. They've been complaining and whining for days now. Said they sent you an e-mail that you never answered. Even Dr. Franklin has tried getting them to cooperate and, _frank_ly, you're the only one they might listen to. They like you. And Dr. F is getting on their nerves. Particularly Dr. H's."

"I'm in the _education department_, Paul. Not development and certainly not archives. I don't know jack about preservation or exhibition." I thumbed through the mail, watching as Elaine melted away into her office. Seemed that her plan to bribe tickets off of Paul had gone sour and she was off to lick her wounds. "I don't get it. Why do they want me? I have no training in museum studies, that I can remember."

He snorted at my jab at my amnesia. "Neither do I," Paulie shrugged and the phone began to ring. "Still, I'm pretty freakin' awesome at my job." He gave me a bright smile as I reached down to take up my cane again. I waved as he answered: "Hello, National World War Two Memorial Museum. How can I help you today?"

After making a quick stop by my office, I decided to make a venture down into the archives to deal with whatever new trouble Loraine and Donny had worked up in the past seventy-two hours. Dr. Frank Franklin—the director of the museum—was almost _always_ on bad terms with the two elderly archivists. He had a more straight-laced approach to museum science and saw everything as an item to be catalogued. While he was a good man, he had little patience for the eccentric people that were housed in the basement.

The thought made me laugh out loud as the elevator doors slid open.

"Ah, good! Finally!" One of the archivists exclaimed upon seeing me exit the elevator. I smiled as I moved out. "Donny! She's here! Darlin', you gotta help us out. We're stacked to overflowin'! Can't even breathe with all these boxes piling up and up and up! Dern place about to be a-flood with artifacts before we're through." If I hadn't been raised in Nashville, I might not have understood a word of that tirade. "You're spacin' girl! Mouth hung open like that, you look like you're a couple fries short of a Happy Meal."

"Like she's playin' hockey with a warped puck!" Her husband, Donald—or 'Donny'—called from the back of the large archive room. The sound was muted by the rows upon rows of stacked boxes. "Like she's a couple cards short of a full deck!"

"We get it, Donny." Loraine rolled her eyes.

"Like she's got splinters in the windmills of her mind!"

"Donny, I swear to the Good Lord above, if you quote that Carol Burnett one more time this evening, I'll hit you so hard you'll be whistlin' Dixie till Tuesday afternoon!"

A smirk pulled at my lips. With all of her commands and insults, Dr. Loraine Higgens was the epitome of a sassy old woman. She had more education than I could ever dream of and, what kept her on staff, she was a former nurse from the Second World War.

Her hip popped out to the side and she crossed her arms over her flowery peach blouse. Her sharp brown eyes looked back to me and she snorted. "I tell you what, we've been goin' crazy down here. People ain't forgotten that we're down here, right? I'm scared that they'll forget and just find our corpses in the camping gear storage."

Laughing lightly, my head shook. "As if anyone could forget you, Dr. Higgens" It was the truth. No one could forget her colorful personality.

Even if they wanted to.

And Dr. Franklin really, really wanted to.

"Good to know that you still remember me," she grinned. Everyone at the museum knew that I had problems with my memory. She was the only one that joked about it. "Now you're just butterin' me up. Tryin' to get outta this, huh? Too bad, honey. You're stuck here for the rest of the weekend. We've got to get—" she waved her hand irately over her shoulder, "this mess sorted out. You've got enough experience. You like to learn. You're our new recruit. No time to train another intern. You're our girl."

"I don't have any experience in archive work, Doctor." I felt myself shift backwards a bit at the very idea. I loathed areas where I had no knowledge. This was one of those situations that made me extremely uncomfortable. Recently, that phobia of the unknown had gotten worse. So bad that anxiety attacks often came with my ignorance. I willed away that response though, even as I felt it creeping up behind.

"You got about eight months o' knowledge workin' for the museum. Ain't that right, Donny?" Her husband called his agreement from somewhere in the abyss. "It's about time you spread your horizons. New things around every corner and all that jazz."

"I've got to plan the curriculum for the fall series." I tried to formulate excuses. Anything to get me back home, where I could curl up and stay. "We've got Dr. Balfour coming for a lecture in two weeks. I've got to get the family workshops planned. Not to mention we have a class coming in from the University of Tennessee next week!"

"All the more reason to know what's on display," Loraine retorted with a wave of her hand. "If you're gonna to teach kids about these artifacts, then you need to know them. Right?"

She was waving off my concerns as if they were nothing. All the while baiting me with something she knew I couldn't turn down.

"Treasure trove of knowledge back here! Down here. All around here." Donny yelled from the back.

"Is he drunk?" I questioned with a laugh.

Dr. Higgens just shrugged and brushed a hand through her short silver hair. "Who knows? They don't pay us enough for good liquor. Anyway, look at this as an educational opportunity. Do you think we'd let just anyone down here? No, I won't even let _Frank_ near these items. He doesn't get it. Doesn't understand what this stuff is. Before they go on display, do _you_ know what this stuff equates to? Honestly?"

I shook my head, not certain.

"A bunch of junk," Loraine retorted lowly so that her husband couldn't hear. Loraine shrugged her shoulders. "It's all junk until we find the history behind it. A piece or an artifact can have all the history in the world, but it don't matter unless we have a story behind it. It won't matter unless we connect it to something _more._"

It was strange because that was how I felt. I felt like a relic that had no story behind it. Oh, sure people told me that it was alright that I didn't remember the past two years. People told me it was fine that those memories were only wartime flashes. They told me it was fine that I felt so disconnected, that it was normal. They didn't know something though. We're a culmination of all our experiences.

If I couldn't remember my experiences, then what did that make me?

Junk.

"People are gettin' bored and that ain't good in a museum like this. We're losin' visitors. You're losin' students. And you know, the money goes right along with them." She strode over to an old wood workbench and plopped herself down, fishing in a time-tinged white box that sat on the concrete floor. It had all sort of things within it. "You gotta help us, Shelly-girl. In your free time. Once you get all that curriculum stuff figured and all. Please come down here and help this weekend. I know it won't go into your internship, but please…"

"_Shelly, please…"_

My hands fisted automatically at that nickname. I wanted to tell her not to call me that. To tell her that it hurt too much to hear it, but I just kept my mouth shut and focused on something else for a moment. My wandering eyes found a set of goggles and a worn leather jacket lying atop a large cardboard box. For a moment, I wondered if the owner had died in the war. If they ever returned home. Why were those belongings here in a museum basement and not stuffed in some old man's closet? Did he give up, wanting to let go of the past? Did his family give it away because they needed to sell the house? Why—

I sucked in a breath when a memory jostled through my mind, like a runaway freight.

A brown leather jacket, a fifty sewn onto the back.

Someone with blond hair and glasses.

It was hard to breathe for a moment. Too many memories.

Smoke and pines.

My eyes closed and I shook my head, trying to free myself from my own frayed mind. It had been the same pictures for months. The same leather jacket. The same warfare. The same phantom smells. All of them hints toward what happened, but not clear answers.

It was like chasing ghosts. The ghosts of my own mind.

"Honey," Loraine's gravelly voice broke through my thoughts and I jerked back to reality. "You feelin' alright?"

"Yes, ma'am." My eyes opened and I pulled on a smile. "Where do you want me to start? What items am I looking for? What's the procedure for documentation?"

Her eyebrows rose before she let out a peal of breathy laughter. I felt myself tense. "Oh, you're a rare one! You know, I remember when Frank was lookin' at hirin' you for the internship. Said that you were one of the most promisin' young historians of your generation. Said that you had a lotta love for history, especially for the war. A lot o' respect for it." My brows pulled together in question. I wouldn't have called it love for the war. Love for the countries that fought in it was more accurate. "Shame you got fired from your position at that college. Their loss, I say."

"Two years absence. Of course they'd fire me." I tried to keep the bitterness from my voice. Thinking back on it, the loss of my position at Highlands was another nail in the coffin of 'What Once Was.' I sighed, rubbing my forehead. "I couldn't just return to things as they were."

"Course not," she responded as if that were the most obvious conclusion in the world. If only I had been so aware when I was first waking up. "Don't know what happened while you were missin', dear heart, but I would bet my right ear… that you changed because of it." Dr. Higgens gave me a once over glance before shaking her head. The corners of her mouth screwed up in a lighthearted smirk. "You got plans tonight then?"

"Just coffee," I answered. "I can cancel."

"Nonsense. Just come back here afterwards. Six. I can drive you home."

* * *

"You're not the type to run late, Shelly."

I hurried up to the café and leaned forward to rest my hands on my knees. My cane was held between both hands since I had been in such a rush to make it on time. I tried so hard not to run late! So much for that, anyway. There was a snort of amusement as I heaved in some heavy breaths. Giving him a tired once-over, I sank into the hot cast iron chair and angled myself out of the sun's rays. It was nearly five, but the summer sunlight was harsh and the humid Nashville air only seemed to make everything even hotter. Fanning myself with my hand, I glanced over to see Corey giving me the side-eye.

"You hot or something?"

"Or something," I sighed with a small laugh. "Cut me some slack here, Corey."

"You're a Tennessee native, you went to Ole Miss, and you lived in Missouri—" He waved me off with a flippant hand. I shook my head and pulled a water bottle from my purse, still fanning my face with my free hand. I was sweating terribly. "What's a little humidity, huh? Never need moisturizer. Never need to dry your hair. Suck it up, Shell—"

"That's because you _can't _dry your hair here," another voice answered before I could. "Try to dry it and it's still wet hours later."

I smiled broadly and watched as Carolyn fell into the chair beside Corey, giving him a fond peck on the cheek. A beautiful diamond ring sat proudly on her finger as she leaned forward to grab one of my hands. They wanted to announce it to me, I figured. So, I kept my mouth shut. "Bless your heart, look at you! You're still dressin' like a forties pinup."

"Not a pinup," I retorted easily. Self-consciously, I picked at my white blouse. I was used to this by now. Six months of her harping at my style choices. Honestly, I found the clothing style to be comfortable and familiar—what some people now viewed as antiquated or 'retro.' I really couldn't say _why_ that was, why I felt it was so comfortable. "Can we talk about whatever it is that you called me here for? I've actually got to be back at the museum at six."

"Six? Seriously?" I nodded, blankly looking off to the side. I really didn't want to hear it again. "Don't think that we're blind, Michelle. You're burying your head in the sand. Typical, just avoiding the issues rather than confronting them." Carolyn snorted and took a book out from her bag, setting it on the table. She was always the outspoken sort. It really didn't surprise me that she would comment on my overtime. She always did.

"Let it go, Lynn." Corey muttered under his breath, warning his fiancée against pushing me.

I shot him a look, trying to avoid the conflict before it started. Of anything, I didn't want to get on Carolyn's bad side. And I certainly didn't want Corey mad with me. He was due to ship off to Korea next month. "What issues?"

Corey pushed his forehead into his palm and shook his head. A sigh escaped him and he seemed to deflate right in front of me. "Michelle—"

"_What issues_? How about the fact that you still can't remember what happened? You don't remember anything still, right? It's been a year, right. Nothing?" I pushed down my anger and just looked at her, knowing that her frustration was for mine and Corey's benefit. Still, I couldn't help but to think that she was intruding. I glanced to Corey to see him looking away. "You're waking up your mother with your screams. You've got Corey worried sick. You keep seeing flashes and you can't—" She stopped and lowered her voice. "You won't even go to a counselor."

"No," I replied without hesitation. "I won't."

_W__hat_ could I tell them? That I saw snippets of the memories, memories that I wasn't sure that I _wanted_ to remember? How could I tell them that I kept remembering the strangest things—like the 1941 Presidential Election and a live performance by _Glenn Miller Miller of all people_? How could I tell them that I could remember reading newspaper headlines about the sinking of the Bismark? How could I tell them that I could remember living in New York City? Not just NYC, but NYC from nearly eighty years ago. How could I, when I knew they would just write me off as crazy?

A year ago,I had woken up in that German hospital. So much had happened in that span of time. I returned to America, home. A media firestorm seemed to ignite at my reappearance. Some said that I had lied. Some said that I just abandoned everything and went on some fantastic vacation. Some suggested the slave trade or other terrible things.

I just requested that the public allow me to resettle myself into the life I once knew.

But that life was long gone.

I was returning to a home that had changed drastically from the one that I thought I remembered.

Highlands Community College terminated my employment six months after I had gone missing, giving that position to a promising young man just out of graduate school. He was a brilliant writer, but—with his ratings on Rate My Professor, I guessed that he hated teaching. Probably only saw it as a means to an end, a paycheck. I searched for a job for three months before I was given an internship at the local museum-Dr. Palmer's elderly wife had used her impressive connections to get me an interview. Thus, I remained in Nashville under the supervision of my doctors and family.

Something always felt wrong though.

Always _off_, somehow.

The things I saw, they were of a time when I shouldn't have lived. There were faces that I just couldn't assign a name to. I knew them. I knew that they were important. I could feel their importance, but I just couldn't figure out _why_.

They say that some forms of amnesia rob you of connections. You can remember feelings and deep emotions, but you can't assign them to anything in particular. And so everything just floats in my mind like a disconnected nebula of memories that never link. They just drive me mad with their presence.

And the nightmares.

The nightmares were terrifying.

The nightmares were something I kept to myself.

Always.

No one knew about the nightmares.

"Michelle!" I jumped, eyes refocusing on Corey's face. My heart was thundering my chest and I felt my eyes welling up. Pressing my head into my hands, I tried to take a few deep breaths to calm myself. Corey didn't need to worry about me. "Shelly?"

That name only made me shake.

A hand came to rest on my back and started rubbing in slow circles in an effort to calm me down. If anything, it made me more anxious. I sat up so that Carolyn would stop, turning to look at her. That was all it took. "I—Okay," she said after a moment. Both hands were held up in surrender. "Okay." She reached over and grabbed the book off the table, handing it to me. "This is what I wanted to give to you. If you want to, you can head out."

_Big Bands of the Forties._

I took the book into my hands and gripped it tightly, momentarily squeezing my eyes shut. I didn't want to lose composure like that and I knew that I had to get myself under control. "I—I haven't called Momma yet. She's busy…with the restaurant. Corey—"

"I'll tell her you're working late." Corey interrupted me. He lifted his coffee to his lips and I wondered vaguely how he could stand hot coffee in this kind of heat. "Just text me when you get home… please." He gave me a significant look, one that had Carolyn looking away.

"Yeah," I bit out a little harsher than I meant to. Guilt hit me when his brows rose at my tone. "Yeah. Sorry. I'll—I'll text you." Pulling myself up from the chair, I started to stride away, guilt eating away at my chest. I couldn't quite tell _why_ I was feeling so remorseful at that simple snap in my patience. My emotions over the past year…had been unstable at best. Stopping momentarily, I looked down at Carolyn's worried expression. "Sorry and congratulations on the engagement. It's about time, Corey." With that, I walked away and got lost in the Nashville crowds.

The flashbacks kept happening, but I had to keep that to myself. Their intensity worsening every couple of months. It was something like post-traumatic stress disorder, though I went undiagnosed. Combine that with amnesia and you get one very confused individual. I couldn't explain my fear of complete darkness or why I jumped every time there was a loud sound. I couldn't explain why I felt so connected to certain things—like my sudden and distinct claustrophobia or my inexplicable love for big band music. Every now and then, I would feel a ghost pain in my leg or in my stomach or my head. It would remind me how close to death I had been.

Confusion.

Always confusion.

Though I tried to move past it, to live a normal life, it continued to linger.

"See those boxes there?" Dr. Higgens asked, gesturing toward a stack of white boxes that sat near a workstation in the corner. The bright lighting and light country music actually gave me a bit of comfort. She grinned, tossing me a set of gloves and a mask to put over my face. "Careful with the artifacts, Michelle. They were just dropped off last week. Good donor. There's sure to be some good stuff in there." The old woman rolled her shoulders and drew her sleeve over her perspiring forehead. "Whew! Donny and me're gonna go grab a bite to eat. Do you want us to get you anything, darlin'?"

"No, ma'am." I eased the top of the box off and smiled to myself, appreciating the smell that came off of the old objects. It reeked of old books, like these were kept in a library or a closed off room for a long while. That smell would never fail to put my mind at ease. All of the tension melted out of my body as I slouched on the stool. I heard Dr. Higgens laugh as she and her husband left. I was certain that they would come back within the hour.

I took a moment to appreciate the _smell _that came off of the old objects. They reeked of old books, like these were kept in a library or a closed off room for a long while. Stale and musty, something like aging grass or an uprooted tree. It took me back to better times-hours spent in the shadows of the campus libraries at school. Times when I knew exactly who I was and didn't feel like an imposter in nearly every situation.

Sighing, I sifted my way through the objects.

A worn journal with faded words. It seemed that the language was possibly Swedish or Norwegian, though I couldn't tell for sure. I was no linguist. I could possibly hand it off to a translator for analysis later. The dates _were_ interesting though. It seemed to be dated 1941, perhaps October or November of that year. Gently, I set it aside.

A few books that were worn with time followed.

There was a set of aviator goggles, which would probably look interesting in the aviator's exhibit. If we could pinpoint _who_ they belonged to and what battles they had seen, they would make for an interesting artifact for display. Lifting them up so that I could examine them closer, I noted that there was a crack in the right lens. My mind was already spinning with ways I could use something like this in a lesson, particularly for the younger kids that came into the museum.

There was a postcard from France—lovely script written out with a standard message of 'I'll be home soon.' 1943. Now, _that _was something that would be interesting. If I could teach the classes about the cost of war by using postcards from the warfront. Brows pulling together, I reached down into my purse and withdrew my own leather-bound journal. Another thing that gave me some comfort. It was a habit I had to form.

It was always easier to just write something down than to forget it later.

I made note of that educational possibility, writing the specific postcards that I planned to use as I set them aside. Once more, I reached back into the box.

I withdrew a small gemstone and marble globe and sat it to the side with some care. I clearly needed some repairs as the globe itself seemed a little disconnected from the base. After however many years in storage, it was only natural that such a beautiful item was in disrepair. What really caught my attention though were the pictures that sat underneath it.

My breathing became a bit more labored and forced, attention shifting from the broken globe to the photographs.

With quivering hands, I brought them up out of the box and sat them on the workstation. I could barely even draw a breath, afraid that if I even exhaled wrong—they would crumble and scatter away like dust. Or my memories. The faces that stared up at me felt so utterly _familiar_ that I could barely even believe the thundering in my chest. I knew them and yet, I didn't know them. I couldn't say what connection I had to the men and women in the photographs, but I knew that there was something…_something_ that I was missing. Like seeing a picture of elementary school friends and not recalling anything, but the fact that you knew them.

I couldn't actually know them though.

And that was the most chilling feeling.

A shiver crawled up my spine.

On the first picture, there stood two young men. Both were in military garb, one looked to be forcing the other to eat something through annoyance or coercion. Annoyance, most likely from the look on the shorter man's face. The younger of the two looked rail thin and tired, exhausted. He didn't look at all up to an argument with—I flipped the image over and studied the messy cursive handwriting.

_Lukas and Emil, 1942. _

Lukas. I knew that name.

Why...

How did I know that name?

I sucked in a shaking breath as I looked to another picture, letting the other fall from my hand onto the table. There were three men in this picture. One stood at the forefront, smiling broadly at the camera. His smile was somewhat goofy and carefree, while a lighter-haired man stood in the background scowling. He had on the traditional formal German suit of the Third Reich, an iron cross visible. Next to him, a Japanese man stood and looked off toward the tree line with a neutral expression on his face.

I knew them.

How did I know them?

Hurriedly, I shuffled that picture to the back of the stack. I felt myself stop breathing, the remaining photos falling from my hands and scattering onto the tabletop. My chest began to tingle, along my breastbone. I couldn't stop shaking. A face smiled up at me, a face that I recognized from my nightmares and my dreams, from the flashes of memories. Eyes wide, I frantically flipped over the image for the name.

_Alfred, 1945. _

Alfred.

Alfred Jones.

How did I—

I gasped, setting the picture hurriedly upon the table. I stared at the smiling face, knowing the colors as they should be. Blond hair and blue eyes. A brown leather jacket. Loud and endearing. He would smell like smoke and pine trees. I could practically hear his laugh, boisterous and full of amusement.

"_Shelly!"_

My head shook so violently that my hair fell from its bobby pins. This was...this was insane. I couldn't actually _know_ him. He had to be nearly ninety or a hundred by this point in time. There was no way I could know someone as they were in the Second World War.

Impossible.

Shaking my head still, I reached down and grabbed one of the white-rimmed photographs I had dropped to the table. A darker skinned young man stared up at me. I knew him as well. I knew him. Better than I knew myself, I knew him. There was no smile on his face, just an emotionless stare. A white scarf covered his head, a keffiyeh. I could practically hear his voice in my head. I ran my hand over all the pictures, seeing images of those I recognized. Panic began to fill me. I pulled another from the pile, eyes wide.

It was from the celebration in New York—V-Day. Behind the man, the iconic picture of the nurse and soldier was being taken. He was smiling widely, the relief of victory clear on his face. I couldn't explain the relief that flooded through me at seeing him smile like that. He…John. John Jay.

John Jay Jones.

Shakily, I tossed the picture onto the table and started to back away at an angle, the space enclosed by the shelving units behind me. Frantically, I shoved the metal stool out of the way. My legs seemed almost too weak to propel me backward and I caught myself on the ledge of the table, still maneuvering back.

It was in that moment that my right elbow caught the edge of the workstation. Hissing with the pain of it, I shifted around and caught myself on the ledge. The table shifted under my weight and the globe was knocked off the edge. I spun around just as the globe began to topple toward the floor. My breath caught and I clutched my left hand over my chest, knowing that there was nothing I could do to stop it. Even as I reached my right hand forward, the globe struck the floor and chipped, lolling to the left before stopping. An eerie silence seemed to fall over the archives and then I felt the world begin to tilt.

* * *

**Author's Section: **

I know I said every other week, but I felt like giving everyone a surprise. I love that feeling when someone updates early. I feel like there shouldn't be that large of an update gap between the prologue and first chapter, too. That being said, the updates will now be every two weeks. I hope that everyone enjoyed this chapter—yes, it was mostly set-up, but it was **essential** set-up.

(1) The World War Two Memorial Museum is based on the National World War Two History Museum in New Orleans. I made it a memorial museum and placed it in Nashville for the sake of the story. All procedures associated with museum science will be as accurate as I can make them. That includes cataloguing and such. Museum science and studies are very interesting fields and I wanted to give them a nod while still keeping some of Michelle's interest in education. There's more to her employment there, but we'll find that out later.

Everything will be explained in future chapters, I promise.

Anyway, I want to thank everyone for the phenomenal flood of reviews and follows and favorites on the prologue. I have never received such tremendous support on a first chapter before and I thank you all from the bottom of my heart. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter.

All the best to everyone and have a great two weeks! Please leave reviews, feedback, and comments below! Thank you!


	3. Chapter Two

**A Matter of Course**

**By: Dr. Cultural Studies **

**Chapter Two: Thomas**

* * *

_"I like the dreams of the future better than the history of the past." – Thomas Jefferson (1816)_

* * *

There are always moments that define us. They come in different capacities, by different modes and means. Some of those moments are obvious and glaring. They're like billboards on a dark highway; they can't be ignored. You can see them for miles and yet you never really stray from the road. If you try to avoid those signs, you're just taken to another street with more signs and landmarks. More moments. Some moments though are like the small marks on the concrete median. Maybe some wreck happened there before. Or maybe those small moments are like the motorists stranded on the edge of the road. You see them, but maybe don't acknowledge them. Or they're so commonplace that you don't even think.

Some moments just slip right past you. It isn't until when you look back on that moment that you realize just how it changed your life. Those marks on the road— maybe someone died in a car crash there. Faded orange lines. That motorist? Maybe he would one day end up saving your life.

Who knows?

As I stumbled back into the shelving unit, I was very much aware of how my world was changing, or—better put, my _perception_ of the world. It seemed like the entire room was spinning and I slowly let myself sink to the floor, staring up at the workstation with wide eyes. I had to get a grip.

I had to _calm down_. I was hyperventilating, causing the world to tilt and spin.

Taking a few deep breaths, I continued to stare up at the table. The room still seemed to be a top, but my bought of dizziness was beginning to fade. The room was merely tilted to the side now, reality askew. It was just utter disbelief.

I couldn't stand the apprehension and fear that cluttered my chest. The surprise. The _not knowing_.

Shakily, I lifted myself up to my knees and reached forward to pull the stack of photos down from the table. They scattered to the scuff-marked white linoleum and I sat back again, folding my legs Turkish style. My eyes glanced guiltily toward the broken gemstone globe and I grimaced, noticing the chip and scruff marks that marred the surface of it. It was once beautiful. I could think on it later though. Shifting, I reached forward to grab the closest picture and held my breath.

Just a name and a year.

_Arthur, 1940. _

Closing my eyes for a moment, I tried to imagine what this man—Arthur, as it said— might look like. It was a completely crazy experiment, but I couldn't help myself. How could I possibly guess the appearance of someone I had never met? Arthur, though. The name had come up quite a few times in the past year. I had asked for an "Arthur" when we were flying over the Atlantic. I still don't know why I asked for him.

Still, I imagined him as a man with…blond hair and green…green eyes. Large eyebrows and—Tea. The smell of old books. And rain. And when he was angry, his eyes would come alight with passion and fervor for his opinion. A strange sense of familiarity flew over me before it fluttered away as my eyes opened and I turned the picture.

A man stared up at me, a glare on his face. His arms were crossed over his chest. His eyebrows were thick and dark, contrasting with the lightness of his blond hair. He was wearing the typical attire of a British soldier, a desert mesa was clearly shown behind him.

It was him. The same man I almost remembered.

Yet that was _impossible_.

Shaking my head, I sat the picture of Arthur off to the side and took another and another. Each one possessed some person that I knew. Feliciano. George. Francis. Antonio. I knew them, but I couldn't assign a connection. Ivan. Yao. Matthew. The feeling was one of complete alarm. To know someone, but to not know _why_ or _how_. I couldn't stop shaking, quivering. I set the pictures into two neat rows as I examined them. A total of twelve pictures sat in front of me. I knew each of their subjects by name. With some, I knew—almost instinctually—intimate details about them. How they spoke. How they smelled.

The sheer ludicrousness of the mere idea was staggering.

I couldn't know them.

I _couldn't._

Yet I did.

And I had to accept that. I had to accept it and figure out _how_.

If I just continued on with my denial then I would never get any answers. And answers was what I wanted the most now. I wanted to know:

How did I know these people?

How did I know Alfred? John? Muhammad?

How did I know Arthur, Ivan, and Lukas?

How?

So many questions.

I needed to know.

"Michelle?" Dr. Higgen's voice called from the other side of the archives space. I heard the overly pleasant 'ding' of the elevator as she and her husband stepped off. Gasping, I began shakily shuffling the pictures together. I looked around frantically for somewhere to put them and felt myself go stock-still. I knew. I knew I couldn't just leave these pictures in the museum. Not when I— Gritting my teeth, I rose to my knees and slipped the stack of photos into my journal—which was still sitting on the table. I threw it into my bag, photos and all. By the time I was kneeling by the globe, Loraine was coming around the corner. My head fell forward and I felt myself release a trembling breath. "What on—Oh, Michelle, what happened?"

Tears pricking my eyes, I tried to push away the feeling of shame that overwhelmed me. What did I just do? I was _stealing_ from the museum. I was stealing a set of photographs that had been entrusted to the museum by some veteran or veteran's family. My heart thundered in my chest far harder than it had moments before. I was _stealing_. What was I thinking? I couldn't do this!

I had to do it.

My eyes squeezed shut and I tightened my fists.

I had to get answers.

I needed answers.

I had to _know_.

It was a compulsion, some driving force within me. I had to know or I was going to spend forever wondering and wandering. Maybe I could figure out why…I felt so lost all the time. Why I felt so alone. And hurt. And scared. Maybe it would explain to me why I knew things that I shouldn't. Why I didn't know things I should. Shaking my head to clear it, I gestured toward the globe and sighed, "I'm—I'm sorry."

Though, admittedly, I wasn't nearly as sorry for breaking the globe as I was for _thievery_.

"Honey," Loraine tutted as she walked up to stand behind me. Her old bones wouldn't allow her to squat next to me, so she instead remained standing. She placed a gnarled hand on my shoulder. I looked up to her through my tears. "It's _alright_. We'll just get it repaired. That's the thing with the world, right? You always gotta have some superglue on hand to piece things back together. The world falls apart sometimes." Her eyes skittered toward the globe and she gave it a thoughtful look. "Well, _that_ might take a bit more than some superglue, but I got just the fella. He's one of the best antique restorers in the nation and, if he can't fix it, then we'll ship it to someone else. One way or another, this'll get fixed. Ain't nothin' to get so upset over."

I nodded my head pathetically, trying to shove away my overwhelming guilt. It bubbled in my stomach, but I bit my lip and remained silent. I needed those photographs and logically, I knew that I wouldn't have enough time to examine them in private if I left them in the care of the museum. Yes, I could reason it out. Nodding with a bit more resolution, I pulled myself up off the floor and reached down to pick up the pieces of the globe.

_"I'm the hero, after all. I won't lose." _

_"Even heroes have weaknesses, America." _

My fingers grazed over the upturned continental United States, eyes wide at the memory that crashed through my of the men from the photographs: the one with the leather jacket. Alfred. My Alfred. I started shivering, taking a deep breath as the memory crashed through like a rogue wave. He was standing at a window, hands clasped behind his back. There was a dark expression on his face, as if the weight of the world rested upon his shoulders alone. I could feel my own tension, my own fear. Fear of the situation, fear for him. For everyone. There was a nervous energy in the room that made it difficult to breathe.

All at once, in less than an instant, the image—_memory_, I realized—was gone. I heaved a quivering breath and took the globe into my hand. It rested there with a weight that I never thought it would hold. Behind me, Loraine explained the situation to Donny with a quiet sort of tone. I wasted no time in focusing my attention elsewhere, to the shards of marble and gemstone on the ground. I retrieved a small brush and a piece of paper from the workstation and set to work cleaning up the mess.

Some part of me couldn't acknowledge that crazy memory.

"Michelle, are you alright? You're shakin' like a leaf."

Stopping, I turned to see Donny's pleasant and worried smile. His cheeks were just a rosy as they always had been, flushed over with blood pressure. Forcing a smile onto my face, which seemed a bit more like a grimace, I tried to assure him. "I'm fine—Just a little tired. Dropping the globe got me a little…shaken."

Shaken was such an understatement.

I felt myself pushing my emotions to the side. I had…I had work to do. No matter how much I felt like my world was caving in, I had to _finish my job_. "I was just starting with this box."

"No big deal, sweetheart." Loraine shrugged. "We'll get a couple boxes done tonight. I'll give Dr. Morgan a call. Maybe you can drop the globe off at his shop tomorrow?" My head nodded before she even finished the request. Anything I could do to make up for it all—breaking the globe and stealing the photographs. I would walk over red hot coals for her at that moment. "Alright. Let's take a look at some donations, huh? C'mon now."

* * *

Momma looked over to me in the dimness of the morning kitchen. No lights were on in the house, just the sunlight of the windows filtering through the sheer drapes. She looked rough, bags evident under her brown eyes. Scratching at my shoulders with my probably too long nails, I sent her a small smile and directed myself toward the fridge. The morning routine was so normal that I nearly forgot the happenings of the previous night. Even as I thought that, the recollection crashed through my mind. I sucked in a breath and redirected my reaching hand from the milk to the flat box that sat at the center of the gloriously organized refrigerator space. My mother was an organizational freak of the highest order. When I withdrew the box, I heard her snort.

"Did you have a bad night?" Raising my brows at her question, she gestured toward the box with a flippant wave. "You only eat leftover pizza when you're upset or stressed." Her eyes lowered to her bowl of half-eaten Coco Crunch and she grimaced. "Corey might've called me, too."

I sat an ice cold slice of pepperoni Hut on a paper plate and glanced toward the envelopes that sat on the counter next to her. "You only eat chocolate cereal when you're struggling with the bills." When she sent me a stern look, I sighed and shook my head. "It was a bad night, I'll admit. I didn't get home until eleven."

"I didn't get home until three. The dishwasher broke again." Although I wanted to ask how that could happen, I had heard stories about how the dishwasher would break every few months. I bore no recollection of it though from my poorly reassembled memories. Instead I just gave her a sympathetic frown. "You shouldn't pay Carolyn any mind. She's got a mouth on her and doesn't know when to keep quiet."

"Corey complained about her, huh? If he's that quick to complain about his fiancée to his mother, then he should reconsider marrying her in the first place." The statement was out of my mouth before I could stop it. Eager to stop my half-asleep rambling, I stuffed another bite into my mouth and down an unhealthy swig of Coca-Cola.

Momma exhaled slowly, taking another slow bite of crunch. "You know my thoughts on Carolyn." I nodded. "Even if I'm not particularly fond of her, I'll put up with her for Corey's sake. He's happy, even if he complains endlessly about how much she irritates him." She sent me a look. "You know you're going to have to be in the wedding, right? She's going to ask you to be a bridesmaid."

"Shoot me now," I grumbled. "Come on. Corey's not an idiot. He'll know that she's doing it to keep in your good graces. She could care less about my graces. You though…you're potential employment."

"Like I would hire that huss—" Mom cut herself off, giving me a wide-eyed and innocent expression. I laughed lightly into my pizza, wanting desperately to get another slice from the fridge. It was just so far away and I wanted nothing more than to just stay seated at the counter. "Oh, what does it matter? They're getting married. Just as soon as Corey returns home from Korea."

"A year then?"

"A year," she answered. She slid off the stool and sat the empty white bowl into the sink with a metallic clink. She turned on the water for a moment before shutting it off. "Corey said that she mentioned your memories. I know that bothers you. You should have told her to back off." Her hand reached for the fridge door when she stopped to look at me. I averted my gaze to the countertop. "You know, I would like to see her get kidnapped and hurt and nearly—nearly—killed," she whispered this, "and then recover completely…without repercussions. It wouldn't happen. Oh, yes, and I would like to see her get a job and work for a living while not remembering important parts of her life. Yeah, you know—I would just _love_ to see that. As soon as she's done all that, then she can run her mouth." She threw the door open and launched her hand inside, pulling out the pizza box.

I smiled widely as she placed it in front of me, opening it up. She reached for a slice and grabbed her cup of coffee. I felt such a wave of adoration for my mother right then. "Everyone goes through things differently, Momma. Can't judge her 'til I've walked a mile in her shoes. _You're_ the one that taught me that."

Snorting, she turned to walk into the hallway toward her bedroom. "Next time she shoots her mouth off, tell her to shut up. Then she'll really be a part of the family." She continued out of sight while I laughed. "I'll be out late at the restaurant tonight. Stop by if you want. Remember that there's that concert downtown today."

"Crap, that's today…" The music festival was going to bring a lot of traffic downtown, which meant that I was going to have to take public transit. Sighing, I grabbed another piece of pizza and slid off my stool. No time like the present.

"I'll drive you if you're dressed in fifteen minutes!"

Rushing down the hallway, I felt myself almost forget that things were crumbling around me. As soon as I laid my eyes upon my journal and the photos I knew resided inside, the weight of the previous night crashed over me again. I went through my morning routine mechanically, mind on the photographs and the memories. I stared vaguely at myself in the mirror of my bathroom, running my hands through my shoulder-length dishwater brown hair.

_"Mr. Ludwig has ordered that your hair be cut." _

Heart fluttering in my chest, I chose to ignore the nervous energy that sparked through me. Instead, I focused on my French braid. With as hot as it was outside and the amount of time I had to get ready, it was only logical to pull my hair back. It felt like it was getting in the way though.

A black pencil skirt and a white oxford later, I was pulling on my red flats when my mother appeared in the doorway. She always avoided entering the space for fear of invading my privacy, something she felt was very important since I was readjusting to living with her. I gestured toward the already-made bed. "Just a minute, I've got to get my jewelry on and I'll be ready."

"Do you remember when we got this?" She took a small dolphin figurine off of my dresser and held it up. I saw this for what it was. She was testing my memory. It was something that the doctor's recommended; supposedly it would help my memories return. I doubted it. "You don't remember?"

"I remember," I responded as I pushed a stud into my ear. I winced when it caught the skin at a strange angle. "That was when we went to Florida on vacation. I was…eight or so. Donna brought—What was her name?"

"Heidi," Momma laughed. "You and Corey threw a waterbug on her." I snorted, remembering that clear as day. I could still practically _hear_ Heidi's screams as she leapt from the sleeping bag. As I slipped the post of my pearl earring into my lobe, I watched Momma touch a picture of my father that sat next to the dolphin figurine. "Those were good times. You remember when your father got pulled out to ocean, right? Undercurrent. Corey was crying so dramatically and you were just waving. You were so little." I nodded. "He could have been hurt, but Daddy just laughed and said that it was the best ride he'd ever been taken on…"

I grabbed my purse and held out both hands to her, which she took with no hesitation. She pulled me into a hug and I felt myself sigh, holding her close. She was so stressed from the restaurant that I felt her deflate a little in my arms. "It'll be alright."

"I know, I know." She gave me one more squeeze and stepped back. "Whatever has you on the rocks, honey, just keep pushing through it. You're tough. Tougher than I think most give you credit for." Turning on her heel, she started for the door. "Now, c'mon. I open for lunch in five hours and I've got so much to do it ain't even funny."

* * *

I stood outside of a small strip mall on the east side of town, watching the clouds drifting by overhead. It was already noon and I had spent my morning at the museum. Mom had dropped me off at six A.M., which allowed me a plenty of time to make copies of the scavenger hunt worksheets for the Saturday excursion groups that came through. A couple hours were spent writing up a new schedule of education events that the museum would host in the coming month. July was an especially busy time since vacationers were always coming through the arts district. After that, with the start of the school year, the museum would probably remain busy until December—when the Pearl Harbor memorial events would take precedence. It was noon by the time I arrived at the restoration studio.

It was housed in a slightly rundown strip mall, next to Old Time Pottery. Heaving a breath, I adjusted the box in my hand onto one hip and opened the door with my free hand. There was a heavy jingle when the bells rattled against the glass.

"Just a minute!"

I gasped in surprise, looking around at the amazing collection of artwork and artifacts. There were antiques from wall-to-wall. The smell of it was a strange mix of stale and cinnamon. Paintings hung from the walls, grandfather clocks ticked away in exact time. There were so many different things in that front room that I had a hard time absorbing it all. Something did catch my eye though. It was lodged underneath a mountain of books.

An old floor radio. Console.

Something about it felt familiar, like the photos that were in my journal. Part of me almost wanted to take those pictures out of my bag and examine them. Instead, I just ran a hand over the polished wood. At any moment, I felt like President Roosevelt's voice would give us words of comfort. A fireside chat between friends and citizens.

"Got that from a friend a couple years ago when he cleaned out his place. It's a Zenith, one of the best from back then. Sounds good if you want to power it up."

Turning, I felt myself jolt a little in shock. Standing just a few feet away amongst the old antiques was Thomas Morgan—the popular street fiddler that I saw almost every morning. He gave me a crooked smile and reached up to remove his orange Tennessee Vols baseball cap. His mop of curly brown hair fell onto his forehead and he brushed a hand back through it. It fell back into the same place as before. Confusion hit me and I gave him a curious look. "Um—so, this is what you do when you're not playing, huh?"

"Restore antiques and run an antique shop? Fella's gotta make a buck somehow, right? Fiddlin' doesn't pay the bills." He shrugged and gestured toward the radio, placing the cap back onto his head. "Fixed that up a couple years ago. Ain't nobody got the money with this economy to buy it. Someday though, the money'll turn around and the island of misfit old things will be liberated." I raised a brow. "Anyway, I'm suspectin' you're here from the museum. You work there, right? Loraine sent you over?"

"Right," I smiled. Adjusting the box, I nodded my head toward the contents inside. "She said that I would be seeing an old man though. Ranted about him for hours. Said that it was a 'Dr. Morgan' and that he's the best at what he does."

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. His smile seemed to grow a little nervous. "Uh—Yeah, well, that's my… dad. He's out running errands and I'll probably end up bein' the one fix your artifact anyway. Let's have a look?" I nodded, following him as he gestured toward the back. "Ya know, I play violin to pass the time. I like hangin' out on Broadway because it's like a cultural center. See a bunch o' different people there. It gives me a way to support myself when I go all over the state. Sometimes I just up and leave. Knoxville, Memphis, Chattanooga. Why not, you know? Life's short and all that." When I handed him the box, he grinned widely as he glanced inside. "Well, darlin', you came to the right place. I'll get this fixed up in no time."

His hand delved inside and then, as his fingers wrapped around the globe, his green eyes went wide. He froze.

Thomas stayed like that for a few long moments and then, just when I was becoming concerned, his eyes returned to normal. He stared at me for a mere second or two before an almost soft expression overcame his sharp features. My brows pulled together in question, but he did nothing though—he was just looking at me with this new sort of _appreciation_. I felt my heart rate quicken a bit. That look was almost familial, like he had known me forever. There wa such love there.

It was odd. The way he was looking at me…Then his gaze shifted down to where he was holding the globe. There was a moment of tense silence before he let out a loud bark of laughter. I jumped at the sound, caught off guard. "That…That clever sonuva bitch!" Jerking at his volume, I took a cautionary step back. Thomas caught the movement, mouth agape in alarm. His free hand rose to rub at his forehead. "Whoops. Sorry, Shelly. Boy howdy, that was one hell of a ride."

"What was?" The question was out of my mouth before I could tell him not to call me 'Shelly.' The name was still causing an ache in my chest.

"What was? You mean…you haven't experienced it?" What in the world was he talking about? He seemed to see that question on my face because he let out a breathless laugh. "It's trippy. Like I know how things are and then, you know, how things _could _have been. Woah. Ain't no moonshine trick, I'll tell you that. I never really gave him that much credit, but _damn_."

"Who? What are you talking about?"

Thomas's face screwed up into a thoughtful scowl before his mouth dropped open. In an almost nervous movement, he pulled his hat from his head again and scratched the top of his scalp. "Oh man… This ain't good. You can't remember, can you? I mean I can remember the news reports. You have amnesia. Of course you don't remember. You don't remember a thing of it. If ya did, then…You'd know who I am. You're smart. You'd be able figure it all out. You don't remember."

"Remember _what?_ I've never even met you before."

He snorted, turning on his heel. I remained stationary; uncertain of what was going on, but Thomas…He maneuvered himself around restoration materials and old artifacts, hurrying toward a small office space at the back of the store. "Naw, Shelly. We ain't met before now- face to face, at least. I've heard of you though. Well I did. I had, way back when. It's a little weird with the tenses." The man stopped and turned, giving me a prize-winning smile. "There are a few people who will be—" He stopped again. I could practically see the wheels in his head grinding to a halt. "You _really _don't remember anything, do you?"

"Anything about what?" My frank answer seemed to dampen his excitement. "You're really starting to freak me out. What are you talking about? How am I supposed to know… _you_ when I've only ever seen you playing fiddle on the street?"

"You might know me by another name then," he shifted and looped his thumbs into his jean belt loops. "Howa 'bout… Thomas Jones, huh? You know that name?"

My brows pulled together and I felt a nervous feeling enter my gut.

Thomas Jones.

Jones…Jones.

Alfred.

Alfred Jones.

John Jay Jones.

I thought my last name was Jones when I first woke up.

Frantically, I reached into my bag and withdrew my journal. I slapped it down onto the table where the globe was still sitting, thumbing through the pages with shaking hands. I pulled out the pictures and cast them out like dealing cards. "I don't know you, Thomas—"

"Tommy," he responded as he walked back over to stand on the other side of the table. "Call me Tommy."

"Tommy," I corrected absent-mindedly. A light huff escaped me. How could I tell anyone about this? Why did I feel like I could trust him already when I barely knew him? "I _do _know a Jones though. Two, in fact. I don't know how or why I know them. I just know that their names are… Alfred and John." I sat the photos out and turned them around on the table top. He observed them calmly, nodding his head. "See, I know them, but I don't know—How can I know people that were alive back in World War Two? Not just _alive_, but remember them as they were in these pictures? That's impossible."

Tommy's green eyes flickered up to me and he smirked. There was a spark of humor there. For some reason, that made me even more nervous. I felt like I had seen a similar expression before on another person. "Yeah, it does _seem_ that way doesn't it?"

"Seem? It _is_ that way." I rolled my shoulders and accepted the fact that I was going to sound insane. Sometimes you have so sacrifice dignity to find answers. "Listen, I know it's crazy, but I_ know_ these men and women. I know all of them. I know their names. With some of them, I feel such familiarity that I would say that I was close to them. I just don't know _how_. I can't piece it all together. It's like a broken mirror or that shattered globe. I have the memories somewhere, but they're jumbled and the connections are lost."

"Well, I can say that up until a few minutes ago, I didn't know you either. As for knowing these people? Well, that's not as strange as it may seem. A lot of people know them. I can't just explain it to you though. I have to _show_ you." He reached for the globe and lifted it up to hold it close to his eyes, examining it carefully. "He probably didn't count on you losing your memory. And, hell, I don't know you well enough to do anything to help you gain _your _memories back. I do know someone who can though. I know lots of people who can. And, you know what? I'm going to call them right now. You just hang tight, alright? I'll get you the answers you want. You just have to promise to trust me."

"I—" He stared hard at me, waiting to hear my answer. I could see his muscles coiling, ready to run toward the phone again. What if this was a terrible idea? No, I couldn't be a fatalist. I had to risk it. I had to find the answers. I had already stolen from the museum. What else would I do to know? "I'll trust you."

He was on the other side of the room in mere seconds, fingers tapping the old telephone with a quickness that was unparalleled. There was a grin on his face that seemed to radiate happiness. I almost felt excited with him, excited at the prospect of knowing who these people were. I trailed over after him, listening as he spoke to the person on the other line. "Hey, Al. Naw, it ain't that. Yeah, I get it. You're busy. Yeah, that's rough...I feel for ya. Listen, I've got something you gotta see. Can you come down tonight? Well, fly down obviously." I sent him a concerned look. "Listen, fella, I wouldn't call you down here if it wasn't an emergency, okay? Yeah. Oh, and Al? Bring J.J. Drag him if you have to." There was a loud laugh that I could hear from a few feet away. "Yeah, it's for the music festival. Just get your ass down here, okay? Love you too."

My arms crossed and I waited for him to explain.

"Well, Shelly, I've got a couple of guys I think you'll be glad to meet." He stood to his full height and strode toward me, putting an arm around my shoulder. I wanted to shrug him off but the happy grin on his face made me reconsider. "Go ahead and head out, now. I'll pick you up at the museum at eight tonight. Until then, I've got a lot of phone calls to make." He pushed me lightly toward the front of the store.

"What on earth—"

"It's okay not to understand. Just… let me do this for you. Is that okay, darlin'? Can you trust me with that?" I stared at him, not sure what to say. "I promise you, Michelle, I would never let any harm come to you." The way his expression became overwhelmingly serious and the way his green eyes seemed to darken, I knew I had to take him at his word. There was something familiar about him that demanded that I trust him with anything.

And, though I was vastly unaccustomed to it, I had to allow him to take charge with whatever this was.

Nodding my head, I went over to gather the pictures. They felt heavy in my hands. And, a few moments later, I left the small antique shop. As I walked out, I could have sworn that I heard Thomas speaking in another language just before the jangle of the door bells sounded off and drowned out the sound of his voice. Nervous energy swelled in my gut as I looked out over the broken parking lot, toward the blue sky and white drifting clouds. Something was in the air. Humidity clinging to my skin, pressing my lungs.

A car backfired in the distance and I jumped at the sound, breaking out of my contemplation. I adjusted the bag on my shoulder and started to walk down the sidewalk. I tried to ignore the nervous feeling that was bubbling in my stomach, but it only seemed to grow with time. By the time night came, I was downright terrified of what was to come. And the answers that I would get.

Some part of me wondered: did I really want to know in the first place?

What if I knew and...No, I couldn't think on it. I was going to have answers and that was enough for the time-being.

* * *

**Author's Section:**

Surprise again!

Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews. This week was so busy that I didn't get a chance to respond. And thank you all for the follows and favorites.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. More and more will become clear soon. It may feel a bit disconnected, but have to write from Michelle's POV and she's not exactly the most reliable narrator right now. I'm trying to get that across because she is difficult to write in this state. She's uncertain of everything and reports little with extreme clarity because she feels so disconnected from everything. Things will change as the story develops. As for the people who guessed that Thomas was Tennessee, I think you have your answer. What do you think of him? He's a blast to write and he'll be a constant presence in this story, fore the most part. And yes, I trolled you all with that cliffhanger last week. Oh and I updated today because I will be unable to update next week. I'm moving and I know that I will not have the time to write, revise, and post. I hope everyone liked this chapter.

The Nations will appear next week. Three chapters with nothing but OCs? I am so sorry.

Please leave me feedback, reviews, and/or cookies. All the best to everyone and have a wonderful weekend.


	4. Chapter Three: Part One

**A Matter of Course**

**By: Dr. Cultural Studies**

**Chapter Three: Together **

**-Part One-**

* * *

"_Every good citizen makes his country's honor his own, and cherishes it not only as precious but as sacred. He is willing to risk his life in its defense and is conscious that he gains protection while he gives it."- _Andrew Jackson (1890) [quoted Julia B. Hoitt]

* * *

I could remember the first time I felt like that. Seems strange that I could remember something so trivial. I was in the seventh grade and I was forced to join the band. The choices were rather non-existent: chorus (which would have been an utter disaster), sports (which would have been equally disastrous), or band. My mother bought me a flute before I had actually decided, bringing it home with a triumphant look on her face. And, to please her, I tried to learn to play it. I wanted to succeed with music as I did with my academics. But, no matter how much I practiced, I couldn't get the fingerings correct. Every day after school, the band director would approach me. He would kneel next to my music stand and explain the notes again and again and again. Each time, I felt my heart thunder in my chest. I would start to tremble, just slightly. My hands tingled and that sensation would only make my playing worse.

I was humiliated, day after day. Because I _couldn't_ do it.

And that sensation only got worse during band performances. During those, I could barely breathe for how nervous I was. My palms would grow sweaty and my heart would race. Eventually, a headache would bloom from the increased blood pressure and then my arms would go numb.

I never told anyone except Corey. It was sort of similar to stage fright. An anxiety that I kept until I started teaching.

That same feeling—nervous, quick breathing—was overwhelming me as I stood in the alley between the convention center and the museum. The sun was quickly sinking in the west, casting a shadow between the buildings. Shakily, I pulled my cell from the pocket of my skirt and looked at the time. Seven thirty-one. Thirty-two. Sighing, I slipped it back into my pocket and let my head fell back against the bricks of the wall.

I wasn't sure that I could handle all of this stress. My heart was already about to give out without all of the terrible possibilities wrecking through my mind. Oh, all afternoon I had been imagining terrible outcomes of this venture.

What if Thomas—Tommy—was actually some sort of criminal? Which was ultimately ludicrous because Loraine would never send me anywhere dangerous. What if the people he contacted were ninety years old and were dragging themselves all the way to Nashville only to think me crazy? My head shook. The guy's voice sounded young.

Was I just supposed to take Thomas at his word?

The sound of a rapid drum beat made me twitch and my hand automatically went back to my pocket again. A picture popped up on the screen, a young man with a shaved head and a huge grin. He was wearing military fatigues. Sliding my finger over the screen, I answered. "Corey?" I shifted, brows pulling together in question. He _never _called me during the day. When he didn't respond right away, I felt worry overtake my nerves. "Corey! What's wrong?"

"I—I—Oh, shit. Shelly, I—Oh man…" He sighed deeply and I knew I had to wait for him to explain. My first concern was Momma and then Donna. His voice sounded so strained that I knew he had to have been crying only minutes before. There was a long pause and I could hear the dinging sound of his car. "I—I kicked her out, Shelly."

"You did _what?_" Corey kicked Carolyn out? Floored by the suddenness of it, I let myself fall back against the brick wall. "When? Why?"

Corey was quiet for a minute and I could imagine him shifting uncomfortably in the driver's seat of his truck. I wanted so bad to just give him a hug. The feeling of protectiveness came out of nowhere when I thought of all the possibilities of why he would throw her out. What if she hurt him? What if they got into a terrible argument? Could it have been about me? Despite my dislike for her, I hoped that wasn't the— "She…I caught her." He didn't need to say anything more than that and I knew. That…_bitch_, for lack of a better term, had cheated on my brother. My brother. And now he was _crying_ because of it. My strong soldier brother was crying.

What I wouldn't give to just tear her hair out!

Instead, I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the wall. It didn't matter in that moment if I was meeting Thomas in a mere thirty minutes. It didn't matter if it would give me all the answers in the world. Corey needed me and that took precedence—over everything. Yes, even over my desire for answers. "Corey, what do you need me to do? Tell me what you need and I'll do it."

He sighed, "You gotta finish work. I'll be fine."

What was I supposed to say? 'Corey, you handle breakups worse than anyone I've ever seen.' That would do _wonders_ for his mental stability at the moment. "I'm off in fifteen." Not really, but he didn't need to know that. "Come pick me up and we'll go somewhere. Grab some beers or something and talk. Okay?"

He was quiet for a few more moments before I could hear the scruff of his beard against the mic. He was probably holding the phone between his chin and shoulder. "Okay, okay. Yeah, I'll pick you up in fifteen. We'll head out to the lake. It should be pretty quiet tonight. The festival is on the other side of town." After an exchange of 'love you's, I started back into the building. I needed to get my affairs in order before heading out. My fingers dialed Momma's number without thought, heart still beating fast.

Poor Corey.

"Dirt Road Meat and Three, Denise speaking."

"Momma, Corey and Carolyn just broke up." I shot Paul a look and covered the phone with my hand. He perked, raising his brows in question. "I've got to head out early. Call down to Dr. Higgens. Ask her for Dr. Morgan's number. Please have it by the time I'm heading out. I'll send Dr. F an email. He probably won't care. It's not like I'm holding down the fort." He could clearly see the worry on my face and gave me a firm nod. I stepped into my office and closed the door. Mom was screeching on the other end, voice high-pitched and angry.

"What was that? He just _proposed _to her! They broke up? You can't say something like that and then ignore me! Michelle Renee, answer me this instant!"

Letting out a huff, I fell into my leather office chair and rubbed at my forehead. "Sorry, Momma. I was talking to Paul. I'm heading out in fifteen to meet with Corey, so I have to wrap things up in a hurry. He needs to vent and—"

"He doesn't handle this stuff well." Her voice was hushed. Maybe my memories were jumbled and scattered, but I could distinctly remember his breakup with Olivia after basic training. It was a disaster. He was depressed for months. "How did he sound? Did he sound okay?"

"He sounded fine. Just upset. I think he just needs to talk about it. I'm his sounding board for things like this. Donna's never been around enough to help with relationship issues." I set to typing out my final emails of the day, dreading the moment when I would have to tell Mom what had actually happened. It was best to get it over with rather than to drag it out. Only then could she start to calm down. "He caught her cheating." On the other end, I heard something make a metallic clang and a flurry of curses. If it weren't such a terrible situation I might've laughed. "Momma, don't do anything rash, okay? I'm handling Corey."

"I'll handle _her_," Momma muttered. "That…that…hussie." I could hear her saying something to someone else, but it was muffled. Her voice was a bit more subdued when she spoke again. "You headed over to the lake?" She knew us well. "Grab some Blue Moons. You know that's what he likes when he's upset." I nodded absent-mindedly, watching as a message from Paul popped up on my screen. He had the number. Right after his email, Dr. Frank responded with a 'hope everything is alright.' "Good luck, honey. Call if you need me. Come by the restaurant when everything's over and I'll have some pies ready to go."

"Thanks, Momma. Love you." She echoed the sentiment and I set to dialing the number that Paul had gotten from Loraine. The nervous energy in my gut had died away and now everything that was occupying my thoughts was that of my brother. And how much I wanted to hurt Carolyn for what she had done. While the phone rang, I gathered my papers for lunch and learn development and placed them into my bag along with my journal—which would be getting quite the write up later. "Dr. Morgan?"

"Hey, Shelly. It's Tommy. I've uh—I've got my father's phone." Someone loudly shouted my name in the background and I felt myself start off my seat. Whoever it was, I wanted to get to them as soon as I could by instinct alone. I knew that voice, though I didn't know who it belonged to. I just had to answer his call. It was one of the strangest sensations—like a pull behind my heart. "I've got some guys that are excited to—"

"I have to postpone."

"Post—Postpone? Why?" There was a yell of something in the background, but it seemed that Tommy was keen to ignore it. "Did something happen? Are ya alright?"

"_I'm_ fine. Thank you," I answered immediately. It was endearing that his immediate question was after my health. My head shook as I pulled my bag onto my shoulder. "It's…Well, it's my brother. Something has him upset and, even though I really _do_ want answers, I need to take care of _him_ right now. He's more important than my memories. Or whatever this is." There was silence on the other end for a few moments and I decided to sever that quiet response. "I know that you have guests in town and I would love to meet them, but it will have to be either late tonight or tomorrow. Right now, I have to—"

"Take care of your brother, Michelle." Tommy interrupted. There was a note of something there—pride, though I really couldn't imagine why. His voice tunneled out as he spoke to the other person with him. There was a loud groan and then a few muttered words. Then, out of nowhere, another person was on the line. It was the same voice I recognized. The same voice that I…knew from my dreams and nightmares. From my memories.

"Yo, Shelly." I couldn't find the air to respond as I froze with my hand on the door to the hallway. My breathing was shallow, labored. "You take care of that brother of yours, okay? Touched the globe and now everything's cool. We'll be seeing you later, alright? Call this number when you're free. I don't care if it's three in the morning. I gotta see ya. No matter what, alright?" I remained stunned into stillness. The voice continued to speak. "You may not remember me, Shell's Bells. You gotta trust me when I say that…I _have_ to see you."

How could I say that I had to see him too?

How could I say that when I didn't even know who I was talking to?

My chest was hurting.

"Be careful, Shelly. Take care of your bro. Family first. Like I said, call when you're done." I breathed out an affirmative, still breath-taken by this stranger's energetic timbre. So familiar. Safe. "See ya, Shells." There was a voice—Tommy's—telling the person not to hang up, but there was a dial tone a moment later. I stared at the screen for a few long, drawn out seconds before a text from Corey appeared: _Here._

When I clambered up into the cab of Corey's red lifted Chevy, I knew that this was going to be one of those nights. One of those nights where you talk for hours and hours, moving around and around and around in circles. Topics could fly off on tangents that made absolutely no sense, but…somehow they would connect back to Carolyn and her dumbass betrayal. Yes, it was going to be like that. And I really couldn't blame him. His eyes were still puffy as he looked over at me, a frown on his face. It honestly made me want to punch something, a sensation that I rarely got.

"Have you called Jesse?" Corey questioned almost immediately.

My head shook. Honestly, I had forgotten that Jesse was actually alive. For some reason, my memories always dictated that he was long passed away. _Of course_ I forgot to call him. "I called Momma though."

My brother winced, flicking on the turn signal. "Damn. Mom's gonna kill her."

"Wouldn't go that far," I responded as he pulled to a stoplight. I shifted around in the passenger seat to get a good look at him. He looked so tired and worn. "You were fine last night, Corey. What happened?" He glanced at me before pressing the gas. Huffing at his lack of an answer, I glanced out the window and watched the churches wiz past. One of those churches was the one that Corey wanted to get married at. His grip on the steering wheel tightened. "I've got a feeling that we need to stop by BP. Blue Moon and honey buns?" Sending me the barest hint of a smile, he nodded. "Alright. You're lucky this is a paid internship. It's not like you're sixteen anymore." He took the joke for what it was and continued to drive.

Six honey buns, a six pack of cheap beer, and five dollars later, we were sitting in the bed of his truck. The radio was turned up loud so that we could hear the smooth sounds of Tim McGraw and Toby Keith through the down windows. Trust my brother to choose 'breakup music.' The sun was falling fast in the west, casting an orange glow over the horizon. I kept my eyes on the green water of Lake Watauga, the Parthenon off in the distance burning a beautiful burnt sienna tone due to the sunset. It was a part of an urban park in Nashville, one of the nicest in the region.

"I was suspicious," Corey muttered. "I never wanted to accuse her of anything, so I just let things slide." He took a swig of his Blue Moon and grimaced at the bitter taste of it. "She…She was up really late last night. I got up to get something to drink and I—Damn it, I caught her Skyping with some guy. Not just…It was—" I could hear the pain in his voice. "I don't know. I told her to get out. I didn't raise my voice or anything, just told her to leave. She texted me this morning to ask if I wanted to talk." I turned to look at my little heartbroken brother. There were some tears in his eyes, which he hastily brushed away. He didn't want to seem weak. "I—I—want to talk it out, but nothing she says is going to change it."

"You deserve better than that, Corey." I pressed my lips together, looking away from him again when I saw his chin quivering. "You're a good man, a damn good brother. You're a good soldier and a good _human being._ You deserve better than the likes of her. She betrayed you with little regard for your feelings. You're deploying soon. If she was cheating now—"

"I know," he interrupted. "I mean, I know that she would have kept doing it while I was deployed." He sighed, cradling his hand in his hands. "Maybe I'm not meant to get married, Shelly. Maybe I'm gonna be a bachelor for the rest of my life." Despite myself, I snorted. "What? She cheated on me. Lori dumped me. Clearly, there's something wrong. I'm the common denominator."

"Yeah,_ you_ haven't found the right person." Turning to him, I felt myself turning into the older sister I had always been. This was one of those times that I needed to counsel my little brother. Not when I needed to be a friend, but instead a mentor. "Love doesn't work for your convenience, Corey. It just happens and, eventually, you'll find your soul mate. Who knows when that'll be. It could be tomorrow or twenty years from now." I shrugged my shoulders and turned to look at him, noticing the typical little sibling stare on his face. It reminded me of when we were kids. "You've always dictated your worth based on who you're dating. Why not dictate your worth on your own merit?"

"I do not!"

Rolling my eyes, I glanced down to where I was holding a still fully-wrapped honey bun in my hand. I unwrapped it as I spoke. "Corey, you remember when you had that Monster Truck craze in junior year of high school?"

"Yeah, so?"

"The only reason you even_ liked_ the sport was because María—"

"Melinda," he corrected automatically.

"—Melinda was obsessed with it. As soon as you two broke up, you went back to football. You don't like motorsports, never have. You used to and still often do, complain about them endlessly. You like football. Always have. Your likes change whenever you're dating someone. It's not unusual; it's just something that you do." I took a bite from the bun and grinned. "I don't know what that's like. I haven't dated anyone in years. Still, c'mon. You're a strong man, Corey. Pull yourself together and don't take Carolyn's crap."

"Like _you_ didn't take her crap?" He fired that retort off before I think he really thought it through. "Sorry, sorry. I didn't—"

"I wasn't engaged to her. I tolerated her presence—her snide remarks and insults— for your sake. If I saw her right now, I couldn't promise she would be safe from—" Shifting, I caught sight of the baseball bat sitting at the end of the truck bed along with all of Corey's sports gear. "I can't promise that she'd be safe from me batting at her head."

He snorted, "You couldn't hurt a fly, Michelle."

"She hurt my brother," I responded as if it were obvious. "Trust me. I'm more than capable of physical harm right now."

I glanced surreptitiously at the cellphone in my hand and sighed. It was already nine in the evening. The sun was finally casting the last of its light and within minutes it would be completely night. I saw a half empty bottle of beer in Corey's hand while I had an unopened on sitting next to me. Four left in the pack. Seems it had been a waste of money. "What are you going to do?"

Corey ran a hand over his head. "Nothin' much I can do. I'm—I'm not taking her back and I get deployed next month." He pushed himself up onto the ledge of the truck bed. "You've been checking your phone every five minutes since we got here. Who're you meeting up with?" Raising a brow, he leveled me a smirk. "Got a date, sis? Did you blow them off for little old me me?"

"Nope," I responded. "Meeting with a colleague or two. I'd like to meet them around nine-thirty, if possible." Before Corey could voice his obvious displeasure that I had postponed my meeting for him, I spoke up with the authority only an older sibling could hold. "It wasn't important anyway. You should go to the restaurant though. Momma's gonna want to make sure you're okay. I'll bet she has a pecan pie ready for you."

Corey gave me a side glance, obviously suspicious for whatever reason. And really, I wasn't lying…much. I was just being selective. He knew me too well though. "Whatever you're up to, be careful. I—Don't make me lose my sister again, okay? I don't wanna smother you, but I will if I have to." Grinning, he reached over and snapped his finger painfully against my leg. I yelped and shimmied away so he couldn't as easily pop my leg again. I hated it when he did that. "You don't just randomly meet with _colleagues _this late at night, Michelle."

"Us historians are a rowdy bunch," I fired back and leapt from the tailgate. The grass softened my landing before I moved to the passenger side door to retrieve my bag. "Corey, I want you to think about it, okay? You're worth more than all this. If I catch you going back to that harpy, I swear—"

"Sis, I may be a sap, but I'm not an idiot." He frowned.

"It's not idiotic to return, Corey. I just feel it would be a bad decision."

"I just—What was it about _me_ that made her do this?"

Grimacing, I reached forward and wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders. That was what I had been afraid of. He thought all this was _his_ fault. I let out a sigh and shook my head. "It's not you, no matter how much you might think it is. _She_ was the one who betrayed your trust. It doesn't matter what she was displeased with, if she was displeased with anything." I pulled away and looked up at his sad eyes. "You're great, Corey. You just have to find the right person to see it." He chuckled dryly and returned the embrace. "Love you. Be careful on your way, okay?" He repeated my words and stepped back, giving me a sighing smile. He knew as well as I did that he was in for quite the commentary whenever he arrived to Momma's restaurant.

"Call your buddy, Shelly. I'll drop you off wherever you're meeting him."

Dialing the number, I felt nervous energy overtake me again. Now that I knew Corey was at least stable, I could focus once more on the drama that surrounded my memories. The phone rang once before it was answered. "Yellow?" I didn't have time before Thomas began to speak again. "Michelle? You okay? Al interrupted earlier. You're okay, right?"

"I'm okay. I'm fine." Corey raised a single brow and I sent him a withering look, turning my back on him. "I can…I can meet now, if you still want to. We could move it to another day, if they're willing. I'm really sorry about all of this. I know it had to cost a fortune and I really—" There was a muffled sound before a triumphant yell sounded in my ear. I held the phone away from my head and turned to give my brother a half smile. He grinned back, clearly amused by the enthusiasm he heard.

"Hell yeah!" Someone shouted in the background. Tommy cursed colorfully.

"Get off me, Al! John, control him." There was a muted snort of laughter. Someone responded with a 'like I can.' "As usual, you're _no help_! Stupid yank. Where're you at, Shelly? We'll meet you."

"Parthenon," I answered immediately. I glanced over the sparkling lake toward the flood-lit structure. It looked so regal and magnificent in the dark like that. The entire of Centennial Park was a gorgeous setting for wedding photography and general relaxation on weekends. It was one of the nicest parks in the Nashville metro-area. For some reason, I already knew where this would go and I started toward the truck to retrieve my bag. "Let me guess…"

"We'll meet you there in ten."

How did I know that he would just agree to that?

Before I could respond, he had already hung up. Glancing to Corey, I suspected that he had heard the whole exchange. His arms crossed over his chest, a protective stance that I recognized a million times over. Memories were correct on that front, Corey's protection instincts were still strong. Biting my lip, I shifted my stance. "So," he drawled. "You're meeting a lot of people? Three guys?"

"You overheard the whole conversation?"

"Shelly," I sent him a dark look and adjusted my hold on my bag. "Your buddies are loud. _And_ I can read context clues." His tone was a little sarcastic and my arms crossed. "Are you sure you should—"

"Corey, as much as I appreciate the concern, I'm twenty-seven. Several people know who I am going to be with this evening. Dr. Higgens introduced me to this guy." In a roundabout way. "Mom knows I'm out with people. I'm a grown woman. Cut me a little slack here, please." Taking a deep breath, I looked up at my little brother and pressed my lips together. I wasn't going to budge. And, after a few moments, he sighed.

"Yeah, sorry. Sorry. I just—I don't want anything to happen to you. Not again. Not after—Anyway, I'll drive you over there. What's the guy's name?" I saw the question for what it was. He wanted a name so he knew who to hunt down if anything happened.

"Thomas Morgan."

We climbed into the cab of the truck and Corey began inching his way toward the Parthenon, which under normal circumstances would have taken less than a minute to get to. He was dragging out the trip to a full three minutes, moving slower than I had ever seen. And I wasn't quite sure why that was: his need for a friend at the moment due to Carolyn's stupidity, or his protectiveness.

"His father is Dr. Morgan, a friend of Dr. Higgens from the museum." He stopped at the deserted stop sign in front of the Parthenon and sat there for a moment, idling the truck's engine. There were no cars around that I could see, so it seemed that Thomas and his guests had yet to arrive. So I merely sat there, staring out the front window.

Would I really get some answers? The question reentered my mind now that the storm with Corey had settled. Nervous energy filled my gut and I felt for a moment that I would be sick.

"Michelle," I turned to my brother and saw a sort of downcast expression on his face. "It_ had_ to be me." Pulling my brows together, I gave him a confused expression. "I mean, she wouldn't do something like that unless_ I_ did something. Maybe I got her mad? I mean, I was at basic for a while and then got immediately deployed. That had to be tough on her."

Getting a little frustrated, I turned to him and braced myself on the door and seat. "So, what exactly? You _made_ her betray you? Is that what you're getting at, because that sounds like the biggest load of, pardon me, bullshit I've ever heard." His eyes went wide and he spun around to look at me as if someone new had entered his car. So what if I was being blunt? Brutally blunt. These were things he needed to hear. "You're not blameless, Corey. I'm not saying that. You probably could have stood to pay her a bit more attention. That being said, you are _not_ going to play this game."

"_Should_ I talk to her?"

He wanted me to tell him what to do, to give him instructions or orders. Well I wasn't going to oblige. "We've already been over this twice, but I think you need for follow your instincts. That's _your _decision. If you think you can work it out and you want to try, then you should do what you want to do. You don't need my approval or anybody else's." I gestured forward, pointedly moving forward in the conversation. "Let me out over at the path. I'll wait for them there."

"Wait? I can stay—"

"Go to the restaurant." He leveled me a glare and pulled his brows down until he was hooded by them. "Corey, seriously, just go talk to Momma. She needs to hear it all from you. She's older and wiser. I'll text you when I'm home. Okay?" He glared for a few more moments before nodding. I climbed out of the cab and kept the door open for a second. "Love you."

"Be careful, sis." I don't know if he could sense my nervous energy or if he just had some sort of intuition. He gave me a meaningful look and then drove off. And I was left in the dim lamplight of the parking lot and the Parthenon. After sighing and pulling my hair back into a low ponytail, I turned and took in the unbelievable structure of the building.

Of course I knew the history of it. That memory was still with me. It was a class trip when I was seven. Though I researched it years later and could still recall some of the facts. It was built in 1897 for the Tennessee Centennial Exposition, essentially celebrating the fact that the state had been around for one hundred years. Some say that imitation is the greatest form of flattery. If that truly was the case, then the Tennessee legislature truly loved the city of Athens. It was meant to be a gesture of appreciation to Greece. Inside the Parthenon resided a museum with collection of artwork that was collected by the city of Nashville over the years. It was a sort of lost landmark, most people didn't even know it existed.

Sometimes, history was like that though. Actually, _most of the time_ history was like that. People always seem to live in ignorance of the history that surrounds them. It's easy enough to do.

Living with blinders.

I was living like that, so I knew all too well.

Part of me wanted nothing but the peace of my life. My pleasant job, my loving family, the promise of a stable future. I knew things about history, yes. I was very well educated on the subject, but…I lived with blinders. I never bothered to educate myself on other things. I never took an interest in other hobbies or current political affairs. I just kept my head down and lived my life as best I could. I tried to remember who I once was and focused on reclaiming the life I once lived.

Not remembering only made that connection to the wide world even more tenuous.

Everything felt disjointed.

Everything felt scattered.

I limped forward, cane clicking against the path. After a few moments, I was at the bottom of the stairs. The lights were casting my shadow onto the structure, seeming to give the area an almost ethereal glow. It felt strange. I had never seen the Parthenon at night before. It was awe-inspiring. I felt so small compared to it, so inconsequential. This would remain while I would eventually fade away.

"Sh-Shelly?"

That voice.

That voice made my heart stop.

Turning slowly, I saw a young man—one that I recognized from both my memories and the photos—standing about twenty feet down the path toward the parking lot. The glow of the lights made his face illuminated. He was alight against a black backdrop. The only other being in the world at that moment. It was almost like he was seeing a ghost. His eyes were wide and his jaw slack. I felt my heart thunder in my chest, thumping with such a rapid beat that I wondered if I would pass out. My vision swam for a moment, images flashing in my mind. The picture, the memories.

It almost felt like my very soul were shuddering in my body.

This was Alfred.

Not just some descendant. No, he had the same cowlick. The same blond hair. The same glasses and eyes. I would almost bet that he had the same prize-winning smile. I could see it in my mind. I could see it in my mind because I _knew_ him.

I didn't know _why_.

I just knew that I wanted to hold him close and tell him that everything was fine. That fact alone was terrifying. My logical mind told me that I _didn't_ know him. I didn't know anything more about him. Just that I knew his name was Alfred and that he was standing in front of me looking increasingly upset. He shifted back and forth on his feet, clearly uncertain. My logical mind knew these things, but my heart…It knew differently. There was an instant connection.

His mouth hung open for a long while. Then, he took the smallest step toward me. His head tilted just a bit, as if I would disappear if looked at from a different angle. His voice was deeper when he spoke, filled with an almost unbridled emotion. It shook and quivered, just like his outstretched hand. Tears almost came to my eyes when I heard the barely restrained sorrow in his tone. It was just chilling. "M-Michelle, I—I thought—I thought—I thought I'd lost you." He took another slow step forward and I caught sight of the tears streaming down his face. "I couldn't remember you. Not until Tommy…When I touched the globe, it all came rushing back. I dunno…Wow, look at you…You're here."

"What—What all came rushing back?" I shifted nervously, part of me wanting to just embrace him already. I took a careful step toward him, not thinking. I just wanted to move forward, toward him. I needed to get closer. "I don't—"

His arms were around me in the next moment, cradling me close. There was a hand holding my head to his shoulder and another wrapped almost completely around my waist. The breath was knocked out of me and I struggled to gather a breath as I felt the emotions overcoming me. I couldn't say why. I didn't know why.

Why did I want to cry? Why was I burying my face in his shoulder like this?

The warmth of his embrace was unbelievable. A feeling flooded my chest unlike anything I'd ever felt before. I was _comforted_ in his arms, almost the same feeling I would get when I was embraced by my mother. That feeling of being _home_. That sentiment was familiar, right. He was home. He was everything that made a home, home. Warmth, love, pride, protection. After a moment of hesitation, I raised my arms and braced them at his back. It was so foreign, but so _not_. He was speaking to me and I could feel the shake of small sobs. I held tighter and tighter and tighter. I wanted to make sure that he was real and that he wouldn't disappear.

Whoever he was to me, I wanted to make sure that he was really there.

"I—I told you I didn't want to lose anyone else. I've lost too many people. Losing you…Losing you…I should have protected you. I should have—but I didn't. It was my fault. All my fault." He let out a sob and quivered in my arms. His hold became fiercer and I felt the air being pushed from my lungs. He was _strong_. I knew that though. How did I know that? "And then I forgot. A Nation _never_ forgets. I don't get it." His head shook and he shifted to bury his face in my shoulder. His words were muffled. "I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry."

My face rose from his t-shirt and I pressed my chin to the top of his shoulder, looking out into the darkness.

Almost like the sun breaking over the horizon, another person came into view. Another person that I knew intimately, that I knew well enough that I felt a sob well in my throat. I didn't know why, but I felt as if he was a haven in a storm. He was relief and confidence personified. As he stepped further into the light, I could make out a gentle smile on his face as tears fell from his sparkling green eyes. He didn't stop moving until he was just a couple feet away. This man…I knew his name.

"John," I whispered.

His smile became a bit wider and he laughed through his tears, lifting his right hand to place on my cheek. The movement was so tender that I started crying a little harder. His thumb brushed at the tears, gently pushing them away. I couldn't bring myself to break eye contact. I just stared at him. "So you _do_ remember something." He shifted and then moved that same hand to clean the tears from the other cheek. "Hate seeing you cry, doll face. It doesn't matter the circumstances."

Alfred began to release me and I let go of my hold on him, stepping back a few paces to put some distance between myself and the situation. My mind was spinning around in so many different directions. I knew them so well, but I didn't know the mechanics of it. How could I know them? I couldn't recall anything about them, save for their appearances and certain emotions that cropped up. It was all about the emotions.

The doctors had said that this would be normal, something about association between memory and emotion.

"So I made the right call, huh?" Thomas materialized out of the dark and strolled up to stand between myself and the two men. His hands were held behind his back as he grinned. "I told ya, Michelle. I told ya I would help you out. You just had to trust me."

"Who—Who are they though?" Tommy grimaced, looking desperately toward Alfred and John. They appeared bewildered, both raising their eyebrows in the exact same manner. I…I had to get a hold of myself and think this through. I couldn't let myself be controlled entirely by my emotions. I had to use reason and logic to work my way through. "I mean, I know your name is Alfred. I know that your name is John." The latter of the two almost seemed to flinch, but I couldn't say why. "I have so many questions about all of this."

"You always have questions," Alfred grinned. "Nothing new there." It seemed forced and it dropped a moment later. He gave me a serious nod, seeming not to bother with the pretense of a smile. "I can answer whatever questions you have, Shelly. Anything you want to know. I'll spend however long it takes. I'll explain everything."

My first question was the most important: "How?"

Thomas chuckled, shaking his head. He removed his baseball cap for a moment and flicked it. "You're gonna have to be a lot more specific than that, darlin'." He shifted and moved to sit on the stairs, resting his elbows on his knees. He held his University of Tennessee hat between both hands. After a hearty sigh, he patted the space next to him and slipped the cap back into place. "Pop a squat, Mick. You're gonna want to be sittin' for all this." And I moved to sit with him, looking up at the two with barely concealed anticipation.

I needed to know.

I needed to understand.

Why did I feel like crying again? Looking at them made me feel so…Shaking my head, I elaborated my questions. "How do I know you? How are you the same as you were in the pictures? How—" I stopped myself short, not quite sure if should tell them about my memories of the war. Or my utterly preposterous theories of time travel. Instead, I just left it at those questions. Maybe they could verify some of it for me without thinking me insane. I felt so uncertain and yet so _secure_ in their presence.

This was all so surreal.

"You touched the globe though, right?" John questioned. Confused, I nodded. They kept talking about the globe. What did it have to do with my memories? "Shouldn't you remember just like us? Don't give me that look, doll. I know it sounds crazy. Some things don't change. Look at it like this: I mean, Tommy didn't even know you back then, but he was able to see the connection and called us down. As soon as we landed, he tossed the globe at Al. Al tossed it to me. We touched it and it gave us the memories back. Shouldn't it do the same for you?" My mouth dropped open and I turned with wide eyes to face the man to my right. He was staring off into the distance, a scowl on his face. Seeing that his brother wasn't paying attention, John gave Thomas's boot a quick kick. "Pay attention, Bubba."

Tommy glared upward, muttering something about Yanks under his breath. He held up a small space between his thumb and forefinger, narrowing his green eyes. "I swear to God Almighty, New York, you're about this far from gettin' on my last nerve, and ya ain't been here but four hours. Knock it off."

"Suck it up, Country Fried." John retorted with a shrug. Refocusing, he started forward and dropped to a knee right in front of me. His face was level with mine and I could very clearly see worry there in his gaze. "So the globe doesn't give you any memories?" He took something from his pocket and held it out to me, smiling slightly. "It's best to try. We'll go from there. You have my _promise_ though." He leaned down a bit to make sure I was looking at him instead of his hand. "I promise you, Michelle. We're going to figure all this out."

"All of us," Thomas spoke up as well.

"Together," Alfred said firmly. I looked over to him and caught sight of his smile. There was so much…love in his expression that I could barely believe it. He cared for me so much and yet I didn't know how or why. It was so confusing and frustrating. Mostly because I felt that same love for him with no memory to back it up. "We'll figure this out together."

I nodded numbly as John held up the gemstone globe, motioning for me to take it. Although I felt utterly ridiculous, knowing that things couldn't really be magical like that, I reached forward anyway. Hope bubbled up within me. For the first time since I had awoken from the coma, I felt a connection—however tenuous—to the world around me. I felt like I truly belonged. There was no space between myself and the people around me. That mere feeling was enough to take my breath away. Nodding again, I felt tears brim my eyes. The sheer absurdity of the situation hit me, just as my fingertips grazed the surface.

Then, everything went dark.

* * *

**Author's Section**

SURPRISE!

I thought for sure I wouldn't have time since I'm in the process of moving. I was able to find the time to get this chapter prepped and ready to go. As for the next chapter, who knows? One week or two weeks? Let's hope for one, but we'll see. Sorry if I can't get it out in that span of time. Surprise update with a cliffhanger. Fun times. In answer to a reviewer, I LOVE cliffhangers. Love them.

So, the tearful reunion. I'll readily admit: I actually got a little emotional writing it. They each have their own reasons for being so upset. I didn't want to drag it out too long, plus this is a _**two part chapter**_. And Michelle is so confused because of the way her amnesia has developed (and I swear I know more about amnesia now than I ever thought possible). She remembers names and facts, but has a very difficult time with emotions and connections. The fact that her emotions are slowly returning, that's the amnesia showing signs of improvement, but the fact that she cannot remember the actual connections she has…that's very characteristic of long-term amnesia patients. They have to rebuild their connections. As for the nature of her amnesia and whether or not it will be healed, well…we'll see.

There's going to be a lot of psychological stuff and emotion in this fic. It's essentially the ramifications of what happened in "A Matter of Time." There will, of course, be a plot. We're not quite there yet, but the set-up is being established. See if you can find the **clues**.

Thank you everyone for all of your kind reviews! I swear that I get excited and smile every time one shows up in my inbox. It brightens my day to know that people are enjoying my stories. Thank you to all those following and who have favorited this story already. I am very grateful. Over sixty reviews for three posts? Wow. Just, wow. Thank you so much for taking the time. If there are specific question in a review, I will respond. I will try to respond as much as I can. I apologize that I didn't have time to respond to reviews for last chapter.

All the best out there. See you next time.

**Please leave me reviews/comments/thoughts.**

**Thank you!**


	5. Chapter Three: Part Two

**A Matter of Time**

**By: Dr. Cultural Studies**

**Chapter Three: Together**

**- Part Two -**

* * *

_A nation that forgets its past can function no better than an individual with amnesia. – _David McCullough

* * *

It was as if the images were being projected onto a screen within my mind. Distant, but present. Spots and ruins raced along with the images, like the way old news reels would show time and age. It was almost like the images in my mind were recorded during another time era, earlier than the fifties at least. The fashions the people wore, that I wore—they were all from the early forties. I could catch glimpses of some time-markers among the film strips: the 1940 Presidential Election, the premier of _Fantasia,_ the sinking of the _Bismark._ All things that happened in 1940. And I could see myself there among all these things. I could see myself reading a newspaper detailing the sinking of that German ship. I could see myself speaking with a man at a kitchen table, his hand cupped over my own. His name. I could remember his name.

John.

John Jay Jones.

_Johnny_.

The sensation was a strange one. I could _see_ the images—faded into sepia tones of brown and gray and auburn. I _knew_ the people shown within them, but I couldn't _connect_ them to any existing memory within my mind. I knew the man named John Jay Jones. I knew him well. I knew almost everything about him. And he knew almost everything about me. But I couldn't remember how exactly. Those images were evidence enough, though. I could _see _myself with John. I could see us sitting at a small table in a small kitchen. I could see red, white, and blue flags lined down a New York street. I could see all these things and I knew that they were _my_ memories, but they were disconnected like always.

Music was playing somewhere. I couldn't say where. In the sitting room, from the radio? Probably. Yes. That was where I was anyway. A living room, outfitted in stylish forties furniture. In the corner sat an upright floor radio. A clarinet was whistling out a snappy tune. It was Benny Goodman, my favorite. A scene seemed to materialize around me, hardening and strengthening, almost as if I were reliving the memory myself. My body was moving of its own accord. My fingers flipped casually through a book of poetry, Walt Whitman. John sat in a chair across the room, his hands shaking as he held up a newspaper, _The New York Times_.

November 30, 1940.

How?

How could that be?

He sighed and lowered the paper, folding it in half. I continued to flip through the pages of the book, but my attention was actually focused on him and his reaction to the news. After a few moments, he looked to me and his lips pressed together. "Ambassador Kennedy basically told the British government that they were gonna lose the war. He told our President that Britain was a lost cause. Can you believe that?" I shifted, conscious of how guilty it made me look. Of course I believed that. It was one of the biggest foreign relations faux pas in national history. It was something which plagued the war for years. He pursed his lips and shook his head. "Nevermind. Of course you knew."

"I…I knew," I answered. John gave me a long look before nodding his head in acceptance. He didn't pressure me for anything else. Never did. I closed the book of poetry and leaned forward. "Have you—Have you heard anything from Alfred? Is he safe? Is he alright wherever he is?"

"He's with Arthur at the moment," John responded levelly. He snorted, shaking his head. "He'll be home for Christmas. Said that he wanted a big party since it's your first here and all that. That's all I've got from him. How do you feel about having a few others over for a Christmas dinner? Maybe Susannah and George? It'll be your first time meeting George."

The exchange was comfortable, completely normal. It was as if we had been living together for quite a long time. I eased myself up from my usual seat and started toward the kitchen. "That'd be nice. It'd be really nice." He stood behind me and followed, energetically proclaiming that he was looking forward to dinner. "As long as your cheesecake follows, I don't care what the main course is."

Suddenly, I was thrown from that memory into another. The same sensation overtook me, one of observation and not experience. I was watching my life pass before my eyes, memories in a maelstrom. Some conscious part of me knew that I would never regain these memories as I once had them, but I could certainly tell that something was changing. Something was becoming easier to understand. It was all so confusing.

Flashes.

Memories.

Flashes.

* * *

"_Doll," he said. I spun on my heel and faced him. My face was flushed with anger and hurt. "You need to calm down."_

"_It isn't like this back home. No one can make it on thirty-seven dollars, Johnny! No one can do that! I'm _lucky_ here. You're helping me. You and your brother and your family. You're keeping me alive. What about Dawn and Edith? How are they going to make it when—" When their husbands left for war. I closed my eyes and stopped. When I reopened my eyes again, they were full of tears. "It isn't fair, Johnny. They can't deduct things from my pay like this! Just because I'm a woman and they need to hire that new bimbo with no degree, they cut four dollars from our paychecks. _I_ don't have to make rent, but Edith! All because Principal Davies wanted an _easy woman_ on his staff." His brows rose at my thickening voice and I continued to grow more and more upset. "Because I wouldn't—If I didn't—What if I—I know I'm being petty. People are _dying_ and I'm complaining about my paycheck. About how _I've_ been wronged. How selfish am I?"_

_John didn't respond for a long time, crossing his arms in the doorway. My heart sank at his silence. I really _was_ being petty, weak, and selfish. "You're right. The wages aren't fair. The hiring system isn't fair. It's something that has to be fixed." He fixed me with a stare. "Does it change?"_

"_Y-Yes," I nodded, "for the most part."_

"_What's this about Principal Davies and 'you wouldn't?'"_

_My eyes averted and I glared toward the window over the sink. "He made a pass at me. Well, not just me. He made passes at Edith, Chloe, Charlotte, and Hillary before making it to me. Each of us turned him down. Some more violently than others."_

"_He…"Anger was bubbling up in his tone. I could see this posture become a bit more militaristic. It would have been threatening if I didn't know him. "Did what? What did he do, Michelle?"_

"_Nothing I couldn't handle," I responded automatically. The tears were gone and I stared determinedly out the window. "It was a few weeks ago."_

"_And you didn't tell me?" I shrugged. He was still fuming with anger. His jaw muscles were flinching under his skin. "_That's_ why?"_

"_That's why he's deducting from our weekly pay. Yeah."_

"_That's not what I mean!" John stood from his chair and paced toward the far side of the room, shoulders hunching forward in the process. "That's why you came home with those bruises? Because of that rat bastard?" His fist launched out at caught the doorframe, denting it. I flinched at the suddenness of the action. "You should have _told me_, Michelle."_

"_It's over and done now. Like I said, nothing I couldn't handle myself." I thought back on the principal's stunned expression when I landed a solid right hook into the side of his chin. "He'll never make another attempt again. Not if he doesn't want a black eye. Don't let it be said that I'm defenseless. I'm not." New York's brows rose up at that, but I didn't elaborate. I knew how to throw a punch. It was enough to keep sleazy paws away. Besides, the man was tiny. "The bimbo is getting half of the money deducted from our paychecks and Davies is pocketing the rest. Says that it's recompense for the 'humiliation' we caused him. At least I didn't attack the man in public—"_

"_Does this kind of thing change in the future, too? Tell me it changes in the future."_

_My head bobbed in affirmation and sank into a chair at the kitchen table, "For the most part."_

"_Then find some solace in that. The future isn't terrible. It can't be…if you come from there." With a few quick paces, he was kneeling in front of me. I jerked back in surprise. "Look at me, Shell." I did and found myself enveloped in warm hug. The walls I had kept up for the past few months were collapsing again. "Whether you're here for just these six months or the rest of your life…You can always depend on me._

_You've held this in for so long that you lost it. Again. Let me carry some of the burden, okay? That's what friends are for. Hey, why don't you tell me about home? Your home? Nothing about the war or anything from this time? How awesome does everything become? What about New York City? Best in the world, right?"_

* * *

More flashes.

More memories of this man that I knew.

This man that I could remember and recognize. This life that I once lived. I was a teacher. _There_, I was a high school teacher. Then. I had friends—coworkers. There was a war raging over the ocean. The Second World War. We all lived in fear of it. We would spend hours in the teacher's lounge, Edith smoking her cigarettes while the rest of us drank cold coffee. We always spoke about how many of our students would go to war if the time ever came.

Time.

_To think of time—of all that retrospection! _

Retrospection…Looking back.

Time. This had everything to do with time. I wasn't an idiot and I wasn't keen on living in denial. Each day since I awoke from my coma, I was determined to take realistic steps toward a solid and happy future. I didn't deny the difficulties that came with that plan. I was a realist at heart. And being that realist, I couldn't ignore evidence when it was shown to me. Taking a deep breath, I tried to keep calm. My heart was racing, racing in my chest like a runaway freight train. Soon, it was going to derail and crash off the tracks.

Time travel was impossible, wasn't it?

* * *

_I'm fine, doll face. Not coming home soon? Or not coming home at all? Can't have that. If this is your way of saying goodbye, you need a refresher course in manners. The guys are making their call, right? Respond with their decision so I know who to maim next time they visit their consulate. Love you. Got some cheesecake and pizza waiting on your homecoming. _

_Respond fast or I'll come find out myself._

* * *

He was somewhere in the house. Johnny was somewhere in that house and that terrified me more than anything. Every single person I cared about—who I_ loved_—was now behind enemy lines and there was nothing, not one thing, I could do to protect them. Raw fear pulsed through me. I couldn't protect them. No one. Not even Johnny. None of them. It was too late for all that though. If I could just succeed, then I could save them. If I could just fulfill my purpose in that place, then I could help.

If I could just accomplish my goal, then everything would be alright.

It was for them.

Everything was for them.

* * *

"Dudes, uh—Dudes, she's wakin' up."

I was slow to consciousness. The haze of my mind was thick and heavy. Everything felt heavy, almost as if I had run a marathon. My chest was heaving with deep breaths I didn't realize I was taking. Something firm but soft was under my head and shifted a little bit every time I would make the slightest movement. In my mind, those images continued to reel past—resuming that imagery of an old-time projector. Music was still playing, like a song that remains in your head for days and randomly comes to the forefront. It was disconcerting and comforting at the same time. For some reason, it was Helen Forrest and Benny Goodman—More Than You Know.

How did I know that song when I could not remember ever hearing it?

Slowly, I forced my eyes open.

A face lingered over my own, awash with bright light. I felt very fond of him, though I still couldn't really remember much besides his name and a few very weak memories. The feelings though were stronger than anything I had ever felt though. Loyalty and love. I loved this man just as much as I loved Corey. "Hey, Shelly." My head was resting on his jeaned thigh, one of his hands resting on my forehead. "You okay there, Shells? You passed out when you touched that globe. Got us all really worried."

"I'm fine," I managed. Tears came to my eyes and I blinked them away. I didn't know _why_ they were there. And that frightened me. What had happened to make me react like that? Why were these men still the same as they had been back in the forties—if, in fact, I had been there? Not moving, I shifted my gaze over to the next closest figure.

John. The center of the world seemed to shift for a moment, everything in existence centering on him. I loved him, too. I loved him dearly. Only, with him, I knew a little more as to why. I could remember very few things myself, but I could remember enough.

"Johnny…" His eyes went wide at my use of his nickname. "Johnny…How—How do I know you?" Struggling into a sitting position, I watched as he lowered himself to his knees beside me, hands out to help in any way he could. He didn't touch me though, like he was scared I would break. "How do I know you?"

His green eyes flickered toward Alfred, almost as if looking for permission. "What do you remember, Michelle? Did the globe give you any memories back?" He pulled the sphere from his pocket and held it before me. I stared at it for a moment, unwilling to touch it for some reason. For a moment, I couldn't remember it, but that faded within seconds. It was typical of my amnesia and I paid the momentary forgetfulness no mind. Of course I didn't want to touch it, the thing made me pass out. "It didn't, did it? If it did, you'd react a bit more enthusiastically."

"I remember a few things. We lived together, you and I. In New York City."

John's mouth opened and shut several times. He settled with a 'yes, we did.' His gaze flickered toward Thomas, who stood at the foot of the Parthenon stairs. Thomas, for his part, crossed his arms and squinted his eyes. There was defensive judgment clear in his stance. He was…pissed. "Uh, Tommy, I can explain all that."

"Explain away, Yank. Explain away." His tone made it clear that no amount of explaining was going to make him any less angry. What he was angry for—I couldn't say.

It was Alfred who spoke up though, throwing a half-hazard arm around my shoulder. "It's_ so_ not the time for this, brah. You can get all territorial later. Suffice to say that it was _my_ decision where she went. I chose New York for certain reasons that I really don't have to explain to you." New York? Something familiar shot through me then, like a swelling of nervous energy in my stomach before a roller coaster ride. The feeling faded after a few seconds. "Back down, Tennessee. Like I said, this totally isn't the time."

"I'll raise Cain as much as I damn well want when you send one of my—" He cut himself off abruptly and glanced to me. His weight shifted between his feet until he finally seemed to relent. "We'll talk about it later. You ain't heard the last of it. I promise you that, Alfred. Not the last of it."

"Chyeah, sure. Whatever," Alfred muttered with a shake of his head. "It was the best option at the time."

Getting a little tired of the sidestepping and lack of direct answers, I decided that enough was enough. They kept getting distracted by each other and not once did they answer my questions. As utterly self-centered as that sounded, I needed to know. Living in anticipation and confusion for so long had completely fried whatever patience I might have once had for a situation like this.

Clearing my throat, I looked back to John and raised my brows. "John, I need to know. How do I know you? Please. I kept seeing these images of things that happened at least seventy years ago. As impossible as it seems, I know what memories I have. New York City, 1940. How and why?" My chin rose and I tried to put forward a confident and strong front, no matter how uncertain and scared I was of the actual answers to those questions.

Johnny stared at me for a few moments before breaking out into laughter. Alfred followed only a second later, slapping at his leg. I was nothing short of stunned, looking desperately toward Thomas for some explanation. His shoulders just rose and fell. He was obviously just as bewildered as I by their raucous laughter. I almost flinched at the sheer volume of it.

"There's the old Shelly!"

"God, I missed that. No one else will can us when to cut the crap and actually listen. You haven't changed a bit, doll face. Not a bit. Still spitting honesty." John grinned widely, almost as if he were seeing me for the first time. It was wildly endearing to see that kind of smile directed toward me. "It's been seventy years. I could've sworn—I _remember_ feeling like we lost something, someone. I couldn't remember who or what though. And it's actually kind of weird, ya know? To know how things _could've_ ended with the war. Things were going to shit before the timeline was restored, before you set things back right again. It looks like…Well, it looks like something went a little wrong."

"A little? Try _a lot_." Alfred snorted. He looked to me and smiled broadly. "You weren't down there when all the shit hit the fan, N-Y. Last I remember of that night, I was shot and on the ground." He stopped and looked back at me, seeing my stern expression. "You got pulled back in time, Shell's Bells, through a map your students gave you. That's why you were missing for two years." He seemed to consider something for a few moments, excited expression slipping into something more mature and thoughtful. "You—You were in the past, sucked right back into 1940. You lived with John in New York City for about a year. It was the middle of a war and—" His explanation was cut off by John, who interrupted.

"And you got sent back to your time! Up to now. Yep, we forgot about it because a separate timeline was created the moment you stepped foot into the past. It's all really complicated quantum mechanics." He waved the theory off like a fly and sent his brother a quelling look, as if telling him to shut up. I could read that expression in an instant, anyone with a sibling could have done the same. My only concern though was what he was trying to keep his brother from saying. They weren't telling me everything.

In fact, it felt like they were cutting a good bit out.

Why?

"How are you still alive though?" I asked the obvious question. All three turned to look at me, all with identical expressions of surprise. Honestly, did they think that I wouldn't notice something like that? "Are you vampires or something campy like that? Because, no offense, but that's ridiculous." Alfred snorted, shaking his head. "I'm a little short on my immortal mythology, so sorry if I'm a little lost. I'm a historian, not a mythologist."

It was Thomas who spoke up first, putting one cowboy boot on a stair and leaning forward to rest his weight on that leg. "The answer is a little difficult to explain and we can't discuss it in a public settin'."

"Oh stop it, Country Fried. You'll just freak her out with talk like that." Johnny sighed. "The explanation for that is…Actually, I'm really surprised you don't remember it. You knew that before—going back in time." He glanced toward Alfred, as if looking for what he was supposed to say next. I followed his gaze.

"Uh, Shelly, you know the thing is…there are some things that we can't explain. We can tell you what we are. It's not exactly a secret anymore. Never really was all that much to begin with. We don't really try to hide it. It's more that you don't remember anything. I don't want to tell you things that're gonna mess with your condition. Everything that happened back then, not all of it was…uh… pleasant." His eyes flickered down to my leg and I _immediately _understood.

_That_ was why they were so hesitant about giving me answers. Whatever answers I could get would likely prove unpleasant. If I really were thrown back into the past, it was probable that—if knowledge of my origin got out—I would be used as a source of information. That would make me the subject of a great deal of intrigue. Considering how upset Alfred looked as he stared at my leg, I would have bet a month's salary that my injury was the result of something dark—probably torture, though I couldn't be sure. It made sense.

That wasn't to mention my blast wounds, which resulted in my coma and my amnesia. No one could explain those wounds, but if I were in a war situation…Then those wounds would make complete sense.

Then again, the whole idea was utterly preposterous.

Time travel was impossible anyway, but I _believed _every word out of their mouths.

I had somehow travelled back in time.

To 1940.

And I lived with immortal beings…who were standing and sitting around me.

Impossible as it seemed, I believed it.

An obnoxious beeping sound chirped from my nearby purse and I broke from my thoughts, turning to pull my cell from the front pocket. Sliding my finger across the screen, I almost felt myself smile at the interest all three men showed in who was contacting me. They each leaned forward, obviously trying to read the message that was displayed on the screen.

_U ok? Its after midnight. Im stayin at Moms tonight. Text me to let me know youre ok. Im good._

"It's my brother," I answered their questioning looks. I sighed and brushed my hair from my face. "He wanted to make sure I was okay."

"Is he alright? You said something was wrong earlier." Alfred wondered. "It didn't have anything to do with his upcoming deployment, did it?"

My head shook, "No. Just personal problems." I noticed the way he tensed when I didn't give a direct answer. He obviously wanted me to confide in him. Some part of me, though, still saw him as a stranger and I couldn't share my brother's problems with another person. Slowly, I pushed myself up from my sitting position and felt John's hand come to my upper arm to steady me as I stood. "Listen, as much as I want answers. And I really do want to understand all of this. As much as I want to hear every detail about what happened, I _can't_ stay here all night. It's nearly midnight. It's not practical."

Thomas checked his watch. "So it is. Maybe we should call it quits tonight and start fresh tomorrow morning? I'm certain Michelle is exhausted from her day."

"I've got to meet up with Brit—" Alfred cut his eyes toward me and pressed his lips together. "Huh, right. I—uh—gotta meet up with Arthur tomorrow." Familiarity flew through me at that name. I knew Arthur, too. "Let me guess, Shelly. You've gotta work?"

"We're closed on Sundays," I countered with a shake of my head. "I can meet any time after one. I've got church in the morning." Pulling my bag onto my shoulder, I glanced toward where Johnny was standing off to the side, eyes glaring into the darkness outside of the floodlights. I could almost _see_ the inner debate within him. Part of him wanted to continue this discussion. Part of him didn't want to leave me for one second for fear of another separation. The other part of him could understand my need for distance. "I have to work this week. We have a lot of events coming up with the start of the school year. No matter what's going on in my personal life—"

"No, no, it's okay." John spoke up. "You've always put your job first. There's no pressing danger right now. Not anymore. Not like there was…then. We just need to work through this. We need to take this slow. That's the best way, right? We'll go as slow as you need us to, Michelle." I felt myself smile a bit toward him, seeing Tommy's surprised expression in my peripheral vision. He seemed stunned that John could be methodical and thoughtful. I, however, was not shocked in the slightest. "Al, maybe we should keep this in the family for right now? Just until she gets her feet under her."

Alfred looked ready to protest it, but Thomas nodded his head. "I can't believe I'm sayin' this, but John's right. Alfred, ya know we can't predict how everyone will react to somethin' like this. We need to be careful. Be smart about it. Keepin' her under wraps is the safest bet right now. Don't you dare tell Artie or I swear I'll—"

"Yeah, you're _real _intimidating there, Bubba."

Spinning on his heel, Tommy crossed his arms and jerked his head back. "Call me that one more time and see what happens, Yankee Doodle. Bein' around you reminds me why I stay away from the northern part of the clan. You're all—"

"Why? Because we're more intelligent?" I glanced back toward Alfred to see him fiddling with his cellphone, shooting me a long-suffering smile. Raising my brows in question, he merely shrugged in a 'what can I do about it' sort of manner and gestured toward the two bickering men. "Lay off, Gumbo. The war was years ago. Besides, we _are_ more intelligent and you talk slow."

"Tell that to my _doctorate_, Billy (1)."

Confused by that whole exchange, I decided to just ignore it and move on. Clearly, there was quite a bit of rivalry between the two and it was something in which I really didn't want to get involved. Taking a deep breath, I stepped between them and gave Johnny a quelling look. The effect of that action was almost instant. His mouth opened, then closed, and he gave me a slight smile. "Yeah, yeah. Okay. Alright." He looked to Thomas and shrugged his shoulders, gesturing in a placating manner. "Look, Tommy, I'd love to keep fighting with you, but I need to take this dame—Oh, whoops. Sorry, Michelle, you always hated that word. I need to take this woman home. We can keep arguing some other time."

"You're taking her home? With _what_ car?" Thomas crossed his arms, an amused smile pulling at his lips. "You left that ridiculous roadster up in New York, remember?"

"Your car, obviously." I felt an arm wrap itself around my shoulders. "I'll drop her off at home. Al, are you flying out tonight? Tommy, you can drive him." Thomas made to argue but was interrupted.

"Sure am. Need to get there by morning. I'm already gonna be late, but Britain can just suck it up." Alfred responded as he jogged up to walk beside me. He grabbed the phone from my hand and set to typing away on the screen. "I'm putting my number in here, okay? As soon as I get back from London, you're coming to stay with me in Washington. Set up a week of vacation for the first of September." When I started to argue, he shook his head. "No, ma'am. Listen." He stopped, turning me toward him. "Listen to me, Michelle. You have a tendency to just ignore things. You have the patience of a saint. And, if I know you, you won't take a minute off work to get this all straightened out. Trust me, for all of this, you're gonna _need_ that time off. There's a lot you need to hear. There's a lot that can't be said out in the open."

"No promises. I'm lucky to even have this job. I can't jeopardize it."

Clearly seeing that he wasn't going to get any more out of me he swept forward and placed a gentle kiss on my cheek before surging forward to pull me into a tight hug. It was a moment before I returned the embrace, looking to Thomas with an expression of surprise. His shoulders shrugged and he looked away. The moment itself felt really private, full of emotions that I couldn't really place. "I'm sorry, Michelle. I really am. I'm—I'm so sorry all this happened to you. I'm sorry…I'm sorry I couldn't protect you."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," I murmured in response.

His head shook, but he said nothing more. He just gave me one final, strong squeeze before stepping away. His misty blue eyes turned to Johnny. He removed his glasses and ran his hand over his eyes. "I'm guessing that you're stayin' in Nashville for a while, Johnny-boy?"

"Seems like a good place for a vacation. I can stay at Tommy's house."

"Oh _hell _to the naw!" Tommy raced forward with his arms waving. "Uh uh, nope. You're not staying here. You're not stayin' here and that's final. The last time you were here, you burned everything down. Nope, not again. (2)"

"Thomas, _please_…" John bit out. Thomas went completely still at his tone. "Just for a couple weeks, until she can come up to Washington to meet with Al. I—C'mon, man. It'll be easier to ease her into everything, right? You're all fancy with your doctorate. You're a _smart_ dude. Cut me some slack and let me stay down here to answer her questions. Please. You saw me when I remembered her. Please, man." The New Yorker contested with a fierce glare, catching the look in the Southerner's eyes. There was little doubt he was staying, regardless of Tommy's permission. It was just a matter of _where_ he was staying. After a second, his lips curled up into a smirk. "I knew you would see it my way."

"I haven't even answered yet, damn it!"

"No need. I can read you like a book—like _Gone with the Wind_."

"That was based in _Georgia_—"

"Then Hick Finn." Smiling despite myself, I turned to see Tommy's glare. It was clear that John was merely trying to rile him up for the sake of entertainment. And it was working because I could barely hold back my laughter.

"_Huckleberry Finn_. And that was based on _Missouri_. Will you please just go away now? You can stay at my place, fine, but you're steerin' clear of me. Otherwise, you'll end up at the body farm (3). I don't have the patience for you in large doses. And rent your own damn car. Take that one. I'll drop Alfred off at the airport." I laughed at the threat and Tommy gave a firm nod of promise, striding toward what looked to be a rental car that sat in the parking lot. "See you later, Michelle." John turned to me and smiled warmly, jerking his head back toward Alfred.

"I'll hang out here until we head up to Washington in a few weeks. Until then, we can just hang out in your free time. No pressure. We can get _some _of your questions answered and all that. Does that sound okay to you? Besides, I've always wanted to meet your mother. You always used to talk about her and Corey a lot. Feel like I know them already."

"Don't you have a job?"

"See ya, Shelly. I'll call you. Call me any time. See you soon!" Alfred called from the rental car. I saw his hand dip into his pocket with a wide grin on his face. His hand waved dramatically before he disappeared into the car.

"I work from home," John responded. He was ushering me toward the nearby car—an aged Ford Explorer, which I guessed to be Tommy's vehicle. I wondered at why we were taking Tommy's car instead of the rental when I figured that it was probably John's continued progress at pissing the Southerner off. "It's the plus of my profession, I guess. I'm self-employed. Al, however, well…he works for the government. That's why he's headed over to Britain. For diplomatic reasons. Or something. Anyway everything will be explained soon enough. For now, where do you want to go? Home?" There was an odd sort of anticipation in everything he said, a nervous energy.

Despite all of the confusion I felt, despite the fact that I still didn't understand anything, I felt utterly comfortable as I climbed into the passenger seat. And I knew that was utterly foolish of me. At the same time though, I could feel something for the first time in a while. I felt like the world was just starting to make some sense.

And, for a start, that was all I could hope for.

After all, this was only just the start.

* * *

**Author's Section**

Admittedly, not one of my best chapters. I did the best I could for the time I had, but it was a real struggle to write. Michelle is difficult to write in this state because she doesn't remember. She's the same basic character, but there are so many differences because she lacks certain experiences. She only has flashes and feelings, but she's also trying to be logical when logic doesn't necessarily work. She's in a very strange situation. That's not to mention America, New York, and Tennessee running interference. And, yes…There is a _reason _for all that. Any mistakes that are made in name references, such as calling John "New York" were completely _intentional_.

Mostly this was character development and background work. The set-up is there. The plot will be coming next chapter! And it has me _excited_.

Updates are going to be irregular for quite some time. I am hoping to start a new fic soon. I won't talk any more about it until I have at least 40,000 words written. (Not a Hetalia fic.) There might be a couple one-shot series coming (certainly Hetalia fics). It might not be until the end of the year for it to get posted. This fic however will remain top priority. So, updates might come every two weeks or every three weeks. It'll be sporadic, but trust me when I say that I never, ever abandon a story. Never. I try to write ahead and that's exactly what I plan on doing.

I hope that everyone enjoyed this chapter for the character interactions. Continue to look for clues and thank you everyone for your wonderful, never-ending support! Thank you all for the reviews, favorites, and followers.

Please leave me some reviews, feedback, cookies, etc.

**References:**

(1) "Billy Yanks" was a term used by Confederate soldiers for Union soldiers. I'll throw in these nicknames quite a bit with Tennessee and New York. They…will continue their bickering, as they do.

(2) This is in reference to Sherman's March to the Sea, when Sherman cut a path to the sea and burned everything in sight. That included a large swath of Georgia. Tennessee is not referring to New York's damage done to him, but more for the damage done to Georgia. More reference will be made to this in the future.

(3) University of Tennessee body farm- dead bodies are left in all manners of decay for pathologist students to study. It's actually a pretty interesting facility that leads research in studies of human decomposition, helping crime scene investigators to analyze time of death in various environments.


	6. Chapter Four

**A Matter of Course**

**By: Dr. Cultural Studies**

**Chapter Four: Stolen**

* * *

_But, as it is, we have the wolf by the ear, and we can neither hold him nor safely let him go. Justice is in one scale, and self-preservation is in the other. – Thomas Jefferson (1820)_

* * *

Corey wasn't even _trying_ to hide his glare. And I really couldn't puzzle out why. His brows were pulled together while his bony fingers loosely looped around the handle of his coffee mug. He was making a conscious and obvious show of his military nature, kicking his legs out to cross his feet—where his combat boots were most visible. And his dog tags sat on top of his worn t-shirt. I felt my eyes roll. All I wanted was something to eat after a terrible morning at the museum. Instead, somehow I had stumbled into a warzone. How was I to know that Corey would be such an ass today? The air around the table seemed to crackle with tension, mostly from my brother's side. He gave me a surreptitious glance and then resumed his glaring at our newspaper-perusing tablemate.

"You got a problem, kid?" John lifted his cup of steaming coffee to his lips and glanced toward my brother. He folded his paper in the same way he had in one of my barely recovered memories, once horizontal, once vertical. He tossed it onto the table and smirked. "If you got a problem, then please…enlighten me."

"John…" I couldn't help but to give him a quelling look. He was egging my brother on and I really wasn't in the mood for it. John just gave me a wink and leaned back, crossing his arms.

He had become comfortable around my family. After two weeks in Nashville, my mother had practically adopted him into her brood. As I expected she would He crashed on our couch whenever possible, citing his "jackass" of brother as a terrible roommate. Momma felt bad for him. He explained himself as "an old college buddy" of mine that went off for "study abroad" for a certain number of years. He commented rather slyly at the dinner table one evening that I would have made a much better roommate—a prettier one, too, and much more even-tempered.

My mother missed the wink he sent my way. I merely shook my head. But my brother…My brother hadn't missed it and, from that moment on, Corey had shifted into his role as a protective younger brother. He grilled Johnny at every free moment and John humored him, veiling every single damn answer with some potential for romantic connection beyond the platonic. John was having an absolute blast leading my brother on at every turn.

"Frankly, doll face, never saw ya as anything but a friend and sister," John had grinned after my mother's apple pie and vanilla. "Corey doesn't know that though, does he? Haha!"

And, _frankly_, the two of them were about to _drive me insane_.

"Why'd you invite him anyway, huh? He's always around now." Corey muttered to me, acting like John couldn't hear the stage whisper. I shot my brother a disbelieving look at his rudeness and went to answer. He cut me off. "I just…somethin' ain't right with him, Shelly. I've been tryin' to tell you, somethin' ain't right."

"Corey, not now. Please. I've got a really bad headache. It was a hell of a morning with the preparations for Dr. Balfour's visit and with the school trip lineup. I really don't need this right now." My voice was nearly a whine, but I tried to force it into more of a pleading tone. My right palm pressed against my forehead a little more dramatically than necessary. "He sort of just invited himself—"

"Sorry to break it to ya, but she _insisted_ I come along. She's a pretty good sister like that, don't ya think?" Johnny removed his sunglasses and sat forward, grinning. His eyes flickered to me and I could see just how much fun he was having in irritating Corey. I withheld a scoff and tried to ignore the pain in my head. "Ya can't run interference forever, buddy."

My kick was swift and thoughtless. My heeled foot sailed into his shin before I even thought the action through. All I could think was that he had to stop pissing my brother off _on purpose_. Pissing him off naturally was fine (and expected, considering Johnny's usual demeanor), but actively seeking to make him angry was another matter entirely. It had to stop. Two weeks was enough. Because I was the one that always ended up getting the rants and earfuls that came later. Johnny flinched, gasping in surprise. It probably hurt a bit and I regretted that just a bit. I didn't want to hurt him. I only wanted to make him stop.

"S-Sorry," I muttered, "but you deserved it." The last bit was a whisper.

He stared at me for a moment, a volley of emotions raining over his face. Hurt seemed to be among the most prominent. Before I could mutter an apology, he began to laugh. I looked toward my slightly bewildered brother, who raised his brows at me in question. Johnny began laughing so hard he was doubled over.

"Ya know, if there's one thing I've learned—it's that some things never change. A whole century could pass and some things would stay the same." He continued to laugh, clearly overjoyed at the idea of consistency. Honestly, I really couldn't say where that outburst had come from.

Maybe it was somehow connected to a worry that he shared with me one night after work.

_We had been walking down the residential street where my house was located, just outside of Nashville. The asphalt had been wet with newly fallen rain and steam was rising from the hot earth. He was a few strides ahead of me, recalling some memory that I no longer possessed—something about a time when I was sick and how I didn't take off work. I listened with half-attention, watching the rigidity in his shoulders instead. This night, he had arrived after dinner with a dark expression on his face. _

"_I wish I could tell you, Shelly. Truth is, I really want to. There's something…Something that's making me stay quiet. I don't have a choice." There was regret in his tone. "I know you hate not having answers. I know it drives you crazy. Frankly, it drives me just as nuts not being able to give you something you need." Under his breath, he muttered something about cursing Alfred off the face of the western hemisphere. "Anyway, last time we talked, your mom interrupted our conversation. What was the question you wanted to ask?"_

_He stopped for a moment, turning to face me. The tension had melted from his shoulders and his head hung forward, both hands looped into his khaki shorts. He was watching the steam rise from the road. The sun was setting in the distance and I felt myself hesitate. Suddenly, inexplicably, I didn't want to ask him about my injuries. I didn't want to ask him how I earned my limp or how I had blast damage consistent with a bomb. Those questions would only upset him and, while I wanted to be selfish, I couldn't bring myself to ruin the calm that rested around him in that humid twilight. I pressed my lips together and remained quiet. _

"_Heh, after I touched that globe, I thought things would change. I was so scared that they would change. That you would change. You…You're family to me." New York whispered under his breath. He never turned to face me, never acknowledged that I could have heard his words. He just kicked a loose bit of asphalt and went back to strolling down the street. "We went to eat at a place called Dino's a lot. You used to—God, this is hard.—You used to love their pizza. Said it was the best you ever had. You always used to get this look in your eyes, whenever you encountered something new like that. You always got so excited just to be trying something new." He stopped again, turning to me. "To me, Michelle, it's like you died and came back to life. It's…hard to describe. No, you know what? I'm just happy to have you with me." _

The sound of Bon Jovi music filled the air and I was torn away from his pleased laughter, scrambling to retrieve my phone from my purse. Too often nowadays, I was lost in a haze. Always trying to make sense of a puzzle when I didn't have half the pieces. A picture alighted on the screen, Dr. Higgens and her grinning husband from a cookout the previous April. I pulled my finger across to answer, holding up one hand to stop Corey and John's argument before it even began. Both of their mouths snapped shut and I grinned in response. Typical brothers. "Hello?"

"M-Michelle!"

Already, I was on my feet. I pulled my wallet from my purse, only to have John place his hand on my arm. I jerked to attention, seeing his head shake. He was on his feet as well, concern clear on his face. "Don't worry about it, Shell. I got this." He looked toward Corey, who was staring up at the exchange like we were some interesting reality television show. "Well, fella, you gonna take her to work or what? Somethin's obviously going down at the museum." Corey was on his feet the next second, reaching for his money. "Don't worry about it, son. I've got yours too. Take her on in." His voice was firm, not leaving much room for argument.

Corey stiffened for a moment before slowly nodding his head, a smile pulling at his lips. There was a flash of something in his dark eyes. It was begrudging, but it was there. _Respect._ As I took a step toward the gate, Corey seemed to consider Johnny for a moment before holding out his calloused hand. John wasted no time in reaching forward to return the gesture. They bumped chests in that sort-of manly shake that young men did. Even though I _really_ wanted to appreciate the significance of that exchange, I was distracted by Loraine's quivering alto. I refocused my attention on her, striding toward Corey's truck.

"—in broad daylight, too! I ain't—ain't never seen anythin' like it! They just swept in like they owned the place, t-took a lot of artifacts right from the archives. From the archives, Michelle! We—We were down there. One of them had a gun on me and Donny—on Don-Donny. On _Donny_. I thought we were gonna die. I—I thought he was-was…" I tossed my cane into the floor of the cab and climbed into the truck, lifting myself up by the handle. The tires squealed as Corey tore out of the parking lot. "The police're here now. They're questioning everyone. I—I—" She was quickly losing composure and I felt myself starting to panic. Dr. Higgens had never lost her composure, ever. "I—I thought…"

"Are you okay? Loraine, are you alright?"

"What? Y-Yeah. Yes, I'm okay. We're okay. We're okay now." There was the sound of someone talking in the background. I could hear the phone being jostled around. Fear lanced through me at the few words that I caught in the rush of noise. "Michelle, they're taking Donny to the hospital. Something's wrong. Something's—"

"To the hospit—"

"I've got to go. Talk to Frank when you get here."

"Wait, Loraine, what—"

When the line went dead, I slid my finger across the screen and stared blankly ahead toward the other side of the red light we were sitting at. My hands were shaking so violently, I had to grasp my phone tightly between both hands to keep them still enough for Corey not to notice. "The museum was robbed. Something happened to Donny. They're taking him to the hospital. Loraine said that Dr. Franklin will answer my questions." Something felt strange, off somehow. I couldn't explain the feeling of apprehension that bloomed in my chest, anxiety and tension welling up behind my heart. Then tips of my fingers almost felt as if they were numb. Sucking in a breath, I tried to reason out this feeling of dread. "What—What are you doing after you drop me off?"

He glanced over to me and shrugged. "I have a few emails I have to respond to before tonight and I need to make a call to my CO. Other than that, I'm probably gonna head over to the restaurant. You headin' out with John?"

I nodded absent-mindedly, glancing down to the screen of my phone. "You know I'm off next week, right? I'm goin' to Washington to visit John's family. Tell Momma that Donny's in the hospital and that I'll be heading there after I get everything sorted at the museum. I'll take the bus." Corey nodded just as we pulled up to the stop sign a block away from the museum.

Police cruisers sat along the street, officers milling about. Caution tape had been set up to cordon off the museum access, keeping clear of the convention center across the street where a huge convention was taking place. The whole thing must have been a logistical nightmare. Masses upon masses of people were in downtown Nashville for an anime convention, which was great for nearby businesses. Many of the costumed goers were watching the scene from the opposite sidewalk, looking curiously at the museum. While keeping those throngs away from the museum, the police had also shut down traffic along the eastbound lane of Broadway, causing traffic to spiral out of control. I sighed, shaking my head. Was blocking the street really necessary? It was just a robbery.

"You sure you wanna walk into _that _nightmare?"

I gave my brother a close-lipped smile and opened the door, reaching down to grab my purse and cane. "No choice and you walk into worse."

"No argument here," he grunted. "Be careful." He pulled away and left me to battle through the crowds. News crews were already set up along the pavement, cameras aimed toward the front entrance of my museum. If they worked fast, they could make the five o'clock prime.

My identification card got me through the first and second checkpoints, earning me strange glances from several of the observers. My limp was garnering some attention from the crowd as well, but I ignored the looks. Instead, I quickly made my way over to the side entrance, noting the increased police presence. It was clear that the thieves had broken in through the back door. Somehow, the metal door was knocked clear off its hinges and sat just a few feet inside. Whoever had done that much damage must have been stronger than an ox. Of course, I already knew that there had been multiple members to this gang, as Loraine had said. Maybe they used a ram to shove the door inward?

When Dr. Franklin saw me, I could see the relief on his weathered features. His hand rose to rub his bald head as he strode toward me. "It's—It's good you're here." Sweat was beading down his forehead and his eyes were squinting, his usual thin-framed glasses conspicuously missing from his face. I thought I could smell a corn-chip stench wafting off of him as a breeze fluttered through the open doorway. "L-Loraine called you, didn't she?"

"You need to know what was taken?" I questioned, looking to the approaching officer with a curious expression. He gave me a comforting smile and nodded his head. Dr. Franklin looked halfway to Loon Island and, if he continued to rub his head like that, he was going to lose the rest of his hair.

It was best to take on a clinical persona while dealing with this situation. Dr. Franklin was already emotional enough for the whole damn museum staff. Someone needed to stay clear-headed. "Contrary to what Dr. Franklin believes, both Dr. Higgens and her husband kept very detail records of the artifacts. Over the past two weeks, I have been training with them in preservation and archival research. I can tell you what was taken and where it previously was."

Dr. Franklin opened his mouth, but was cut off by the officer. "That would be very helpful, ma'am. It's such a mess down there that it's difficult to say that anything had a specific place." Before he could lead me toward the stairs, I reached forward and grabbed my boss's shoulder. He looked up to me and shook his head in disbelief. I noticed then that there was a cut on his temple and that a bruise was forming on his right cheek. Glancing around, it seemed that no one had taken notice of Frank's injuries—likely sustained in trying to stop the intruders in some foolhardy attempt to protect the history he worked tirelessly to preserve.

When the officer stopped a few feet away and looked back, I released my hold on the older man and walked over to him. Under my breath, I muttered to him. "Dr. Franklin needs to see a doctor. I wouldn't be surprised if he has a minor concussion." I began to follow him down the stairs, noticing the way he slowed his pace so as not to walk to far ahead of me. My limp was slow-going on stairs, no matter how long had passed since I received the injury. "Is Donny alright? Dr. Higgens said—"

"Dr. Daniels." He stopped at the next landing, turning to look at me. There was some reluctance in his eyes and is stance grew stiff. I felt it before he said it. Somehow, I knew. I felt sick with realization. Nausea hit me faster than I could prepare for and I slapped a hand over my mouth, swallowing down the bile in my back of my throat. My head shook in denial, but the officer forced the words out. "Donald—Donald Higgens died on the way to the hospital." His stance straightened a bit. "This…is now a murder investigation."

With that bomb dropped, he spun on his polished boot and made his way down the remaining flight of stairs. I stood frozen at the precipice. A hundred thoughts crashed through my mind at once. The one that overwhelmed all others was the thought of Loraine. No matter how much I wanted to breakdown and cry, I knew that I couldn't do that. I couldn't lose composure until I was alone. At that moment, there was work to be done and, by God, I was going to do it. If they needed my help to find those sons of bitches that killed Donny, then so help me, I would do anything I could to render my aide.

Running my hands over my face, I straightened my blouse and started a little unsteadily down the stairs. For a moment, a very brief and frightening moment, I forgot everything. Who I was. Where I was. Everything. I took a deep breath and stared down at the concrete floor.

_Blood._

_Darkness._

My head shook and forced myself out of that place, wherever it was. I was Dr. Michelle Daniels and, no matter what afflictions I faced, I had work to do. I regained full control and lifted my head, ready to enter the archives. My mourning and insanity could come later.

It was utter chaos inside. Absolute and utter chaos. There were artifacts—priceless artifacts—strewn in every direction. It took a few long moments for me to get my bearings in that kind of pandemonium. Over toward the right hand side of the open central space where Dr. Higgens' and Donny's work tables resided, there were crime scene investigators snapping pictures and analyzing the section closest to Loraine's table. I felt my stomach lurch at the thought of how this would have happened. In my mind, I could almost envision it. My eyes closed momentarily.

_Gunshots down the corridor. _

_Low lighting and enclosed concrete walls. _

My breathing was growing shallower and shallower.

_The concussion of a gun, like the crack of a whip._

_Out of the blue._

_Out of nowhere._

_Out of the mid-day sky._

_No warning._

My head shook again and I tried to rid myself of the frightening memories. My eyes opened. The men must have rushed in from the elevator. (But why would they risk that amount of time? It didn't make sense.) Donny must have heard them first and put himself between Loraine and the intruders. That was just the kind of thing Donny would do—would have done. He would have given his life to save Loraine's. Without a doubt. Without question. One must have kept the gun on them and the others must have ransacked the room. My eyes flew open and I looked around, catching particular details that no other person would have been able to distinguish. Certain peculiarities in the way that my mentors archived items. Eyes flickering toward the boxes to the right. The items in those boxes were below all the others. Those were the first boxes dropped and searched. My gaze flickered to a winter coat that I had catalogued only days before.

"They were looking for something specific," I said quietly. "Thought the archive would be in alphabetical order. Started with the first boxes."

No matter how quietly I had murmured the words, one of the investigators heard it. She stepped forward, arched brows raised in curiosity. There was something territorial about her, like I was encroaching on her territory. Her stance was almost militaristic; feet spread shoulder-length apart. It was almost as if she thought that would intimidate me. "That's what we've worked out, yeah. Who're you?" Her tone was low and brittle.

"This is Dr. Michelle Daniels. She worked with the deceased—" I barely withheld a flinch. "—as an intern. Figured she could be of use in figuring out what the perps stole." The officer introduced with an obvious note of disdain in his voice. At first, I thought that he was directing that dislike toward me, but I instead noticed the way he was looking at the investigator. Shifting his weight to his other leg, he gestured toward the suited woman with a half-hearted wave. "Doctor, this is Special Agent Jane Randolph. She's the FBI _liaison_."

"Lead investigator, but who's _really_ keeping track? Right, Harry?" The agent snarked, clearly making a show of her badge before she gestured around at the destruction.

I couldn't help but to find something a little strange about her presence. The crime had only just occurred and yet it had already drawn the attention of the FBI? Granted, this was considered federal property and the museum was owned, in large part, by the government. Maybe they were just protecting their interests. A retired Marine murdered in a military museum heist? How was he murdered anyway and why did they rule it as homicide so quickly? Loraine had said that Donny was okay when we spoke on the phone. What could have happened on the way to the hospital? It was terrible publicity for the federal government. Negativity that they certainly didn't need.

My eyes narrowed and I glanced away, not wanting to draw attention to myself for my suspicion. I had never been one for thinking ill of the government, but I knew when to call a spade a spade. Something was up. Something was _wrong._ "So, Dr. Daniels, can you tell me where you were between noon and one?"

Stunned by the question, I turned to her at felt my jaw unhinge. She was questioning my involvement? By the stance and her tone, she was very much serious. "I was at Bongo Java on Belmont with my brother and friend. There are several witnesses, if you wish to confirm." She merely shrugged and gestured toward the strewn boxes. Seeing her unasked question, I decided to just humor her. "The archives are subject-based rather than name submission based, or alphabetical, in their arrangement. I'd guess by the way they attacked that particular stack, the robbers—"

"—were looking for some last name that began with a primary letter of the alphabet. Somewhere between A and C." Agent Randolph gave me a look and then forced a smile. It didn't reach her sharp blue eyes. "Not my first case, Dr. Daniels. I may look young, but I'm a Senior Agent."

I almost lowered my head in submission, but something kept me from doing so. Something I saw out of the corner of my eye. It was a brown leather bound journal that seemed to lay separate from everything else. Ignoring the investigator, I made my way over to it and the nearby box. My lips pressed together and I knelt down, hands holding firmly to the hem of my pant leg. I knew I couldn't touch any of the objects, but I really didn't need to. This particular journal was one that I recognized. And, among all the other still-packaged journals, this one was free of its measures for preservation and it sat alone on the floor, opened to a page as if it had been thrown there.

"I—I recognize this journal. It was written by a man from Norway… Lukas Bondevik. He submitted a box full of various artifacts two weeks ago." I felt myself growing nervous. If they continued to research this, then surely they would come to realize that I had stolen objects from that box of artifacts. At the same time, shame coursed through me. How could I worry about something like that while Donny had lost his life? Straightening, I turned to the investigator. The officer now stood off to the side, clearly seething at having the case taken from him. "It's conjecture, but I think they were looking for the box belonging to Lukas Bondevik. Why waste the time to unwrap this journal from the seal? It fits the scene."

The agent stiffened just slightly, eyes flashing toward the journal on the floor. She moved forward with caution, making sure not to step on any of the objects between her and the evidence. "Reynolds, you got this photographed?" When the affirmative was yelled from across the space, she bent down and retrieved the journal into her gloved hands. Her eyes scanned the page. "It's in Norwegian. Pretty hastily written." At my surprised expression, she smirked and—for a strange moment—she looked a lot like John. "I know several languages. Have you gotten this translated?" My head shook. She set to flipping through the first couple of pages before she stopped abruptly. Her attention wavered for a moment before she shook her head and snapped the journal shut. "We're still in the middle of this investigation. Thank you, Dr. Daniels, for your insight, but you're free to go."

I hesitated for a moment, eyes narrowing on the journal. Whatever it said, it had her uncertain and it was clear that she was going to pursue further translation. Curiosity filled me. That journal was connected to whatever John, Alfred, and Thomas were. It was connected to my memories. I glanced around to where the other investigators were snapping pictures in the corner. There was no blood to be seen, no carnage. He hadn't been shot or stabbed. There would have been blood. "Please let me know if you need anything."

Just a mess of history on the floor.

_Runes on the floor. A circle. _

_Terror and candles. _

Prized possessions of the men and women who fought in one of the greatest wars of the modern era. Of any era. Discarded as if they didn't matter. Anger flooded through me. It was wrong. It was so terribly wrong that I almost couldn't see straight. These sons of bitches. These…_murderers._ They killed Donny. They disrespected everything that we had worked for, everything that Dr. Higgens and her husband worked to protect. Everything that Dr. Franklin had pursued his entire life. On the floor, like garbage. Anything I could do to help them be punished, I would do it. It was such a sense of injustice that I could barely breathe. I felt so terrified, so scared. So angry. So hurt. And I could barely see straight. Why did this happen?

What did they want? What did they want enough to murder an innocent man?

"I'll—I'll go get Dr. Franklin and the rest of the staff straightened out. Is there anything you might need from upstairs?"

"We'll handle ourselves. Just try to stay out of the way." Jane muttered, staring at the ground. Her eyes narrowed as she turned to face me. "Donald Higgens was a veteran of our Armed Forces. And Loraine Higgens is one of the most well-respected historians in the United States. We'll find these men. And we'll bring them to justice." I nodded my head and turned to head upstairs. Her green eyes never left the journal.

* * *

I had to call John for a ride. By the time I had finished organizing the turmoil upstairs and calming Dr. Franklin down, I was worn out. So many things needed to be done. Despite being a "lowly intern," I ranked pretty high on the totem pole in comparison to the young unpaid interns and the volunteers who made up the rest of the staff. Frank was nearly catatonic as he sat in his office, staring at the computer screen for several hours. Though I tried to reason with him, I couldn't get him to budge. Therefore, I pulled rank and got things done. Maybe it was my way of coping, maintaining control. Distracting myself. First, I made sure to send Elaine to the hospital. Loraine was still there alone and I knew that she would need the support which I was simply unable to give at the moment. Her family was in Houston. It would be days before they could get to her. Until then, she was my responsibility.

As was the museum.

I set various people to various tasks, all of them in preparation for three days of closure. It would give the authorities time to thoroughly investigate while also giving the staff time to recover from the shock. Advanced purchase tickets had to be refunded or rescheduled. All of that was handled by Paul and myself. The lecture by Dr. Balfour—whom I had been so excited to meet in person—had to be cancelled. I gave him a personal call and informed him of the situation. He was gracious enough to relay the story to the other museums in our network. Despite what it may seem, museums form a close-knit group. Word of what happened would spread like wildfire around the world by the next morning.

It really was my way of coping, I think. I focused on anything else, anything that I could get my hands into. Some strange part of me felt the urge to teach again, something could always be done when teaching. Instead, I would sometimes find myself alone in a part of the museum surrounded by the historical objects that Donny and Loraine had restored together. I would just stare at those objects.

A sense of helplessness seemed almost overwhelming. Still, instinctually, I knew that I was not at my most helpless. I kept getting these flashes of memories—of a corridor and a tiny room. Of concrete and runic markings. I kept hearing phantom gunshots. Every time, I would flinch at the sounds.

I was the last to leave the museum, making sure that everyone else was out before me. Dr. Franklin had given me the spare keys, patting me on the shoulder as he did so. "It shouldn't have happened," he told me. "Not to him."

When Corey didn't answer his phone, I knew exactly who I needed to call. John arrived only ten minutes later. His expression was grim as he looked over to me. There was something in the way he was holding himself that made me wonder what he knew. "Are—Are you alright?"

_"Yeah, doll face. You're not exactly in the best of health, right? You can't fight off those guys if you need to. I mean, you'll be entering a battle-like situation and women—"_

"_Are you _seriously _about to argue that I can't do this because I'm a woman?"_

"Michelle?" His worried tenor broke through my trance, my memory. I shifted a little in the seat of his rented Dodge Challenger, feeling the leather stick to the back of my arms. Everything felt hot. For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to look into his eyes. I just fiddled with my shaking hands, staring at them as they twisted in my lap. His hand reached over to rest on top of my hands, making them go still. "Michelle, it's gonna be okay." I turned to him, tears already trailing down my cheeks.

It struck me as I looked at him.

_His eyes. _

My tears abated after a moment as I continued to stare at his features. A thin nose, oval face shape. Corn-yellow hair. Green eyes. Green eyes. The same eyes. Brows pulling together, I pulled my left hand from underneath his fingers and reached over to pull at the skin next to his eyebrow. I tightened the skin a bit, pulling it toward his hairline. He stared at me as if I were insane, hesitant to say anything in my unstable state. "Uh…What's the deal, Shell?" I felt crazy, a little wild. How could I—It was insane. I felt myself unhinging a bit. My gaze darted from the shifter to the floor and back again. "Michelle! What's wrong?"

There was no doubt in my mind. I couldn't really explain it. I couldn't put my suspicion into words. The agent from the museum, Special Agent Jane Randolph, was related to John. Whatever they (Alfred, John, and Thomas) were, she was as well. Her hair, her face, her eyes. There was an uncanny resemblance there. I couldn't describe my instinctual awareness of that fact, but I knew it to be true. "Do you have a—a sister?"

He raised his brows as I retracted my hand. "I do. Several, in fact." His attention turned back to the road and he gripped the steering wheel tightly. "About…seventeen of them. Well, eighteen." I didn't realize I had gasped until he let out a humorless chuckle. He was obviously weighted down by the events I was enduring. The fact that he was hurting simply because I was… Shaking my head, I redirected my attention outside of the window. "It's connected to the thing that I can't tell you. We're not related, but we kind of are. It's…complicated."

"I figured," I responded automatically. My feeling of panic was subsiding. Now, it was slowly fading back into a critical awareness—where I was most comfortable. "Is one of them an FBI agent?" As these words left my mouth, the Challenger screeched to a halt at a red light. Johnny turned to me with wide eyes. I answered his unasked question. "She was at the museum. She's working the case."

"_Jane_ is?" His brows rose in disbelief. He was still for a single quiet moment before he reached for the cellphone that sat on the dash. "Holy shit. This is not good. Not good at all. Jane's like a bloodhound. She'll figure everything out and ring the alarm before we can discuss this with anyone. I gotta call Tommy. He'll run her down. They've been on talking terms for a while now." New York was dialing the phone in the next instant. "Tommy? Yeah, you got a minute? Well, does it sound like I flippin' care? Nope. No. No, I don't give a rat's ass what you were doing. Now, listen, Jane's in town."

"WHAT?" came out of the phone loud and clear. John winced.

"Yeah, tell me about it. She's working the investigation at the museum. Donald Higgens was killed." He went quiet for a moment and it was clear Tommy was talking. "I'll ask her. Michelle, what was stolen?"

"I don't know. It was a mess down there. I know that they were looking for something that was donated along with the globe. Something from the same man. They looked through his journal and were probably looking for that particular box. I don't know if they found what they were looking for." I shifted in the seat, the same nervous feeling from before letting loose in my stomach.

"Damn. I was _so_ hoping you wouldn't say that." Johnny muttered. "Tommy, call America. Get him to issue the order for Jane to withdraw from the case. Tell him that this is an emergency and that if he doesn't get his shit together, Michelle's gonna be in danger. I gotta take care of her right now. You better make sure that Alfred is over here by tomorrow night, Tennessee, or you're gonna have an angry former spy on your doorstep demanding answers. Or worse, she'll go to straight Norway to get the answers from the Dom's mouth. There's no telling what was in that journal. And we thought we had all the time in the world. Psh." I watched him roll his eyes and he shot me a long-suffering look. "Really, Bubba? The globe isn't gonna make a shred of difference to her except to make her more invested. She'll figure out that there was an alternate timeline and she'll know who Michelle is. But what is the gonna do when—Tell me again how that's a good thing."

"She needs that to find answers though," I interrupted. "Whoever robbed the museum, they were after something that Erik donated. Without her pursuing this, they can't find Donny's killer. These men are connected to you somehow. How else would they know what box to attack? Something doesn't seem right."

Instead of driving any further, John pulled into a deserted parking lot and turned to look at me. "Once Jane knows, she will ask a lot of questions. I mean too many questions. Of you. Do you know what might happen if you regain your memories too quickly? If you regain them at all? Michelle, I don't think I need to tell you how bad things were. If Jane storms in and demands an explanation for whatever Erik wrote, or demands how all this happened, how do you think you're gonna react? If you're mentioned in that journal, what do think is gonna happen? Furthermore, Jane isn't going to understand—"

"This isn't about _me!_ This is about Donny! Those people were looking for something in the museum, something that this Lukas character donated, and Donny was _killed_ because of it! Something connected to me and to you! So _what_ if she forces my memories to return? She needs whatever she needs to solve the crime! Period."

Johnny stared at me for a long moment before shaking his head. "You don't know how big this could escalate, Michelle. You and the globe are more connected than you could ever imagine. This isn't just a localized issue anymore." I could hear Tommy's voice coming out of the phone, but he was cut off by John's deadened tone. "Do what I said. Get Alfred here, pronto. Stop Jane from going to Erik. Yeah, make her touch the globe. Have her at your house tomorrow at three." He glanced to me one more time and sighed. "And Thomas? I think you may need to call Arthur. As much as I don't want to say it, we might need his help."

"Who's Arthur?"

John pulled the car into gear and pursed his lips. His dislike was obvious, but he seemed resigned to it. "Just another jackass coming to the party."

* * *

**Author's Section**

Holy crap. I can't describe how hard this was to write. I went back and forth on what to do with it. And ultimately, I decided to take the complicated route. I like a good challenge. I'll try to make everything as clear as I can, but since it is from first person POV, that limits a lot of the noticed clues. They're there though. Michelle is thoroughly confused by the whole thing and understandably so. There's almost too much going on and she's on a very unstable edge. John's taking charge though, but is he making the right calls? Who were those robbers and what did they want? So many other questions were raised within this chapter. And we get another State! Any guesses on who she could be? Next time, we will begin our journey for answers—and in doing so, we will begin to shift toward the Nations as a focus.

I apologize for some of the stronger language this chapter.

**Thank you all so much for your kind and marvelous reviews. As well as the favorites and follows.** I have never gotten this much attention so early in a story and I truly appreciate all the support. I apologize for my inability to respond this go around.

Best of luck to all of you who are starting school. Here's to a good year.

**Please leave me your thoughts on this chapter. Thank you again and all the best out there! **


	7. Chapter Five

**A Matter of Course**

**By: Dr. Cultural Studies**

**Chapter Five: Remember**

* * *

"_It is a mistake to look too far ahead. Only one link in the chain can be handled at a time." _

– Winston Churchill (February 27, 1945)

* * *

The next morning required coffee. When I staggered into the kitchen, John was already in the middle of brewing the stuff. His jeans were wrinkled and his once crisp white polo was sporting a few spots. I noticed one particular big mess was from the Arby's sandwich he had eaten after we had spent several hours at Loraine's house. I wondered whether or not he had gotten any sleep at all. Considering the television was on in the living room (set to an early-morning news station) and the fact that my grandmother's hand-quilted blanket was still folded, I guessed that he really hadn't gotten much rest. His face was drawn and his eyes tired. He looked ready to fall over at any second. Upon noticing this, I sat my hands upon his shoulders and guided him to a seat at the counter. He offered no protest. "Momma should be up soon. It's five-thirty."

John sighed, arms sliding forward until his head fell onto them. "I'm so freakin' tired, it's not even funny."

I nodded, understanding completely. I hadn't actually fallen asleep until about four-fifteen. There were far too many thoughts in my head. They buzzed around and around and around as I lay in that darkness. Eventually, due to a rather sudden and violent fear of that darkness, I turned on my bedside lamp. It was only _then_ that I was able to drift into sleep. Barely an hour of good sleep did not bode well for the coming day, not that anything else bode well anyway. Why not keep everything consistent? Slowly, I moved to lean on the island counter. "Have you heard anything from Thomas?"

"I love that you still call him that," John muttered into his arm. "It actually kind of irritates him that you really don't call him Tommy." Almost as if he could sense my discomfort, he waved a hand at me and I could hear the chuckle in his voice. "Don't feel guilty. Country Fried is a little…spikey sometimes. Especially when it comes to me."

Actually, I knew Thomas to be a very caring and very generous individual, if a little irate at times.

"I got a text from him about thirty minutes ago," Johnny sighed. "Arthur's landed at LaGuardia. I bet I'm gonna get an earful for not being there to greet him. He gets a little pissy when he doesn't have an escort in the States. Says we're a bunch of heathens."

Pushing off the counter, I moved to grab the coffee mugs from the shelf. Almost as a testament to John's near constant presence in my household, his mug sat next to mine. Though I couldn't quite say why, I found it funny that his mug said "I love the Big Apple." Momma had pulled it out from our mug collection, citing that it was perfect for the visiting New Yorker.

My movements were automatic and thoughtless. I poured coffee into each mug and set to stirring in both sugar and creamer into mine. When I turned around, John was staring at me. Uncertain, I placed the mug in front of him and pulled my brows together. "What?"

"You know how I like my coffee."

"You've been practically living with me for two weeks, John. Of course I do."

"I've had coffee here five times. Each time, you've never been in the room to know how I like it." There was excitement breaking through his tone, though he was trying very hard to hide it. I felt myself perk up a bit as well, despite how tired I was. Seeing him so ecstatic over something so small was really endearing. It made me wonder how often we drank coffee together in the past. "Not just that, Shelly. I take my coffee two ways. Only _you_ would know that. When I'm pretty well rested and chill, I drink coffee with milk and a little sugar. When I'm exhausted and overworked, I drink it straight black." I felt my shoulders shrug. There hadn't been any thought to it, but I felt like I knew that. I did feel like I knew exactly what kind of coffee he liked.

It was strange. Instinctual.

"You like pancakes for breakfast," I commented. He leaned forward, as if waiting for the rest of that statement. I came up short. I couldn't think of what else he could be waiting for. A little disappointed in myself, I glanced down at my cup of coffee, drawing my finger along the Celtic knot design. "Sorry. I—I can't remember anything else."

"No big deal, doll face." His head shook and he ran a hand through his sandy blond hair. It fell in waves onto his forehead. "I like 'em on Saturdays. Or on Sundays for lunch." He leaned against the back of the barstool while I propped myself onto the counter. For a few quiet moments, it seemed like a perfectly normal Thursday morning. "Anyway, Arthur's in the States. He gonna fly down with Alfred this afternoon. They'll be here around three or four. Jane's gonna be there as well. We've gotta give her enough to sate her curiosity or she'll run off on her own to figure everything out."

"Where are we meeting?"

"Tommy's house. Four-thirty."

When Momma came into the kitchen, she pulled me into a tight and comforting hug. She didn't say a word and she really didn't need to. I buried my face into the crook of her shoulder, not really wanting to let go. She was a haven in all of this mess. She had no knowledge of the globe or the mysterious things that were happening concerning it. All she knew was that the museum was one of my sources for stability and that Donny was a good man. She didn't need to know anything more to give me comfort. Her voice was a little strained when she spoke, though I didn't know if it was from withholding tears or from sleep.

"I've got some things packed up from the restaurant to take to Dr. Higgens today. I'll be driving over just before the dinner rush." Good, then she would be preoccupied while I dealt with Johnny and whatever was happening with the magic globe. "How was she last night? I noticed y'all didn't get home until one or two in the morning."

"She's a wreck." Johnny answered when he saw that I couldn't.

I stepped away from my mother and grabbed her coffee mug, pouring some into the cup. She only drank a half cup every morning. Always complained about how it made her jittery if she drank too much of the stuff.

"They're not quite sure how he was killed. There…was no physical trauma. That's what she said." I sat the coffee back into the machine and made a little more noise than I meant to. My hands were unsteady. Seeing Loraine crying so desperately, I could barely breathe. It was all I could do to keep myself from bawling. "They're originally from Houston," John explained. "So they'll be taking him back over there for burial." He glanced to me, clearly trying to gauge my reaction. "I've got a couple friends in the Marines. I'm gonna make a couple calls to see if they can help out with the transport since he's a veteran." He looked to me with a curious glint in his eyes. "Speaking of, isn't Corey in the Marines?"

"Army" I corrected absent-mindedly. I was so used to correcting myself that I gave it little thought. "I'm sure Loraine would appreciate that though."

He shrugged and took a drink of his coffee again.

* * *

Four-thirty arrived much faster than I anticipated. The whole day had been a bust. Both Johnny and I decided to stay home for a majority of the day. We were both able to get some more sleep in the living room, curled on opposite ends of the couch. For several hours, we just talked. He told me more and more stories that I couldn't quite remember. There was some vague sense of familiarity about some of the people—a man named George, who lived in Delaware, his sister Susannah from New Jersey.

No matter how many stories I heard from him, I never told of the nightmares I kept having or the memories that would rise to the surface every now and again. They came with growing frequency.

Gunshots, dark places, concrete, runes, and an explosion.

What did those flashes mean though?

Every time I closed my eyes, I would see these things, these images.

The lilt of a clarinet brought me out of my thoughts. My fingers were tapping the armrest unconsciously and my feet were alternating the rhythm. It was a slow beat, a slow song. I knew the song well, knew the lyrics even though I could not remember ever hearing it before. It was Helen Forrest—I could remember seeing her in concert, in a small jazz club in New York City. She performed with Benny Goodman and His Orchestra. It was one of my favorite songs, then. In the past, even if it seemed logically impossible. "More Than You Know."

Johnny's iPod was hooked up to the radio, as we drove across town. I wondered for a while if he had chosen this music to ease my nerves. When he skipped over a couple newer songs and landed on Sidney Bechet (another great jazz artist of the forties), I knew that he was trying to give me something familiar, something to cling onto as we drove toward the uncertain.

When we pulled up in front of Thomas's house, I had to hold back a gasp of surprise. It sat about twenty minutes outside of town, down a gravel road off the main highway. Large pines and hardwoods surrounded the home itself while a couple acres of clear-cut farmland lay behind it. The driveway was lined by carefully shaped bushes and large oak trees. It was certainly a former plantation home. That much was very clear. It was painted white at the front while the rest was a brick structure. And it appeared every bit the stereotypical Southern home. Flowers (large white lilies and knockout pink roses) rested along the path that led to the wide front steps.

It was _beautiful_.

"You know, he's gonna gloat if he sees you staring like that." Johnny commented off-handedly as he pulled the Challenger to the side. A few other cars sat nearby—Tommy's SUV and a newer model Camaro. On the other side of the Camaro sat a red Jeep with an American flag on the license plate. "Looks like everyone's already here. They're probably gonna rail me for being late. Good thing you're with me to soften the blows."

He turned the car off and shifted to look at me. I looked back at him, trying to ignore how nervous I was.

"Michelle, you're gonna hear a lotta things today. Try not to let any of it frighten you. These guys are just like me, and they want your safety more than anyone in the world. I don't know how Arthur will react, so try to cut him some slack. The globe seems to react differently to different people, so…" He reached over and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Whatever happens, you tell me if you wanna leave. I'll take you home without argument. Okay?"

I nodded, anxious to just get the debacle over with. The way he made it sound, this was going to be a disaster. I slipped out of the car, straightening my skirt as I exited. He raced around to my side, pulling the door open further. "Still opening doors?"

"Just for you. Nowadays, it's not really the thing to do in New York City. Can't judge a whole state by their big cities though. In the more suburban parts of New York, there are plenty of manners still around." He held out an arm and escorted me up the stairs like a gentleman from some nineteenth century reenactment. I left my cane in the car, knowing that there wouldn't be much walking involved in this visit. "Being with you takes me back to another time, Shelly."

"Clever," I complimented.

Just as we reached the crest of the stairs, the front door swung open. Thomas stood there, looking positively frazzled. His curls were frizzed out into a bush atop his head. At the sight of us, he visibly slouched and sighed. "Thank God. I can't handle em any longer. And you're a jackass for comin' up with this idea. Jane and Arthur in the same room? In my house? Screw you, Yankee. If they keep arguing, they'll start throwing things. _My_ things."

"Hi, Thomas." I smiled after his tirade.

He grimaced, looking apologetic. "Sorry, Michelle. Howdy to you, too." He nodded his head just slightly and tipped his ball cap to me. Then his polite greeting disappeared when he turned to face John. "Like I said before: _screw you_, Johnny. They've already broken one of my cups in one of their arguments!"

"Oh, suck. It. Up, Bubba. We've got bigger issues right now than your tea sets." Johnny snorted, clapping a hand onto the brunette's shoulder.

Thomas gave me a long-suffering frown, motioning for me to come inside. I took a cautious step forward and felt the cool air wash over me. Immediately inside the door was a set of wide stairs that moved to the second floor. A burgundy runner sat atop them. Framed photos lined the wall. The foyer of his home was just as gorgeous as the rest of his house. It was a grand entryway and I could imagine dinner parties being held while women came in their finest antebellum gowns. It was a rush of history that felt absolutely invigorating. Even the smell was intoxicating and had my muscles relaxing despite my nerves. Brown sugar and cinnamon.

"You have a lovely home," I complimented while Johnny gave me a shake of his head. I smiled toward him, studiously ignoring the way his hands waved in front of his face. Thomas practically lit up, the weary lines leaving his young face. His chest puffed like a bird displaying plumage. "Was it a plantation?"

"I built—It was built in 1826 and was a plantation until the start of the Civil War. During that time, it became a field hospital for Confederate soldiers." Tommy closed the door and gestured toward the left. "I've got the entire house fixed up. I can give you a tour sometime. For a while, it was also a part of the Underground Railroad. Anyway, you probably should be warned—Arthur's ill as a hornet and Jane is—"

"Herself?" Johnny questioned.

"Worse. She's—"

"Tired of your shit," a voice commented off-handedly. I spun around to see the woman from the museum standing in the doorway, her hands propped onto her hips. Her thin lips were set into a straight line, sharp eyes looking me up and down. I tried not to cringe behind Johnny, but I couldn't help my knee-jerk reaction. She was intimidating unlike anyone I had ever met. Even Corey's Army buddies couldn't hold a candle to this woman. "Stop playing games, Thomas. It's getting old. Either tell me what you wanted to say or let me go do _my job_." She gestured to me with her hand and rolled her eyes. "And just what is the good doctor doing here, John?"

"Wouldn't _you_ like to know?" Johnny retorted, throwing an arm around my shoulders. "You'll find out soon enough so don't get your panties in a wad." I felt my eyes widen at his crude statement and instinctually threw my elbow into his stomach. He let out a puff of air, doubling forward. "Right, right. Sorry, but I'm not apologizing to G.I. Jane over there. She's always been a tight-ass. It'd do her some good to loosen up."

"Did you bring me here just so I could beat him to a pulp?" Agent Randolph questioned sarcastically. She made a show of shrugging her shoulders and seeming nonchalant. I could see that she was seething just below the surface of her professional façade. Her brow was twitching with irritation and her weight was shifting from leg to leg. "Because if I needed a _warm up_, I would have just gone for a jog." I saw Tommy remove his ball cap and rub his head. He gave me a rueful look, but said nothing. Obviously, he didn't want to get on her bad side by interrupting the argument.

Who would?

Beside me, I felt Johnny tense. "Try it, Greyback (1). We'll see who wins out in the end. Who won out last time, huh?" There was a cruel victorious note in his voice that caught even me off guard. His arm fell from my shoulders and he stared at the woman in the doorway, not willing to back down to her intimidating presence. As he took a couple steps forward, John almost seemed to grow in stature. His comfortable slouch disappeared and he stood taller than her, chin raised. I thought I saw her bravado waver under the intensity of his glare. "This isn't the time or the place for your attitude."

She seemed to reaffirm her confidence and her green eyes narrowed. Just as Jane started forward, her heel clapping against the hardwood floor, another person entered the fray. He stepped up behind her and rested a hand atop her tense shoulder, an easy smile plastered on his face. It was almost as if he were unaware of the tension in the room. One could see it though, if I looked hard enough I could see the strain in his smile.

"Why is it that you're always at each other's throats, huh? Like cats and dogs." Alfred let out an amused laugh, but even I could hear the force in it. He was very much aware of the tension, he was just choosing to ignore it. My brows pulled together. It felt familiar, the way he was behaving. Almost as if I had seen it before. Well, I had, hadn't I? I just couldn't remember. My head shook. "Ease up on each other, okay? The war ended the century before last."

"She still flies that damn flag—"

"I do not! My flag doesn't—"

"_Last century_," Alfred reiterated with finality. John cowed under the gravity of his voice, his shoulders slouching forward. Agent Randolph lowered her head slightly, muttering something under her breath to the man at her side. He let out a loud laugh, all the tension leaving his face. "I know he's annoying Jane, but that's what makes him, him." I reached out and grabbed Johnny's arm before he could launch himself into another time-consuming tirade.

I really didn't have the nerve for it.

At the action, I earned the attention of Alfred. His voice made me turn back to him. "Michelle." Before I could say anything, he had me in his arms and was embracing me with such devotion and love that I couldn't help but to return the hug. His arms were pressing me to his chest and I could smell smoke and pines. My arms came up to hook around his shoulders with practiced ease. How many times had I embraced him in my forgotten life? Too many times to count, I was certain. "It's good to see you. Really good to see you!" He stepped back, placing both hands on my shoulders. He leaned down just a bit to be at my eye level. There was a moment of contemplation before his lips pursed. "Why've you been crying?"

How could he tell?

Johnny hadn't even seen me cry. I had waited until I was in my bedroom, well past midnight, to truly let go of my emotions. Yet, with one look, Alfred was able to see exactly what I wanted to keep hidden. Not only that, he didn't even ask if I had been crying. He just took for granted that he knew me well enough to be certain of that fact. And the pain that was in his expression, was it simply from my suffering? "I—I haven't," I tried.

His brows rose before his head shook. The corner of his mouth ticked up in a small smile. "You may not know it, Shelly, but I know you _way_ better than that."

I relented, "It was a hard day. Yesterday."

"Yeah," he nodded and pulled me into a half hug into his side. "I heard. I'm sorry. That's part of why we're here today. We're gonna get everything figured out. So don't worry, okay?" Before I could murmur a word of affirmative, he interrupted. "Nevermind. You've chewed me and Johnny out before for telling you not to worry." My gaze lowered to the floor and I felt myself smile just a bit. That sounded like me, though certainly a 'me' that was _very_ irritated. Normally, I didn't 'chew' people out. He must have really pissed me off if that was how I reacted. "I'm not gonna make the same mis—"

"America! What in the world is taking so—" I turned slightly to face the new arrival, my mouth dropping open in shock. It was the strangest feeling. Like déjà vu. I had seen this man before, almost as if in a dream. He stood in the hallway, arms limp at his side as he stared at the assembled group. His mouth was hanging open just slightly, obviously caught off-guard. I recognized him from the picture.

Blond hair, green eyes. Large eyebrows.

My stomach did a flip and suddenly, I felt sick. This was _him_. Arthur, the one I had asked for on the flight home. Arthur, the one I had seen in those pictures. The one who smelled like tea and old books.

After a moment, the spell broke and he cleared his throat. I averted my eyes, trying not to feel embarrassed for my staring.

"Alfred," he growled. His eyes were alight with anger. "You didn't tell me there would be a _guest_." I could remember that tone, almost like I could remember the lyrics to that Helen Forrest and Benny Goodman song. As if it were somewhere in my mind, buried beneath mountains of other more important events and memories. He was there though. I could remember his name. Even if I couldn't associate him with any specific memories, I knew him. "I apologize, Miss." The British man stated while straightening his stance. His hands moved to be clasped behind his back and the action almost made him appear regal. His glare turned to Johnny, who was smirking slightly. "Is there a reason you look so smug?"

"Nope," John shook his head.

The response seemed to irritate the foreigner even more. I could practically see his hackles rise. "I arrived into LaGuardia this morning. Do you know who wasn't there to receive me?"

"Ya see?" John reached forward and nudged my shoulder. "I told ya I'd get some words about it."

"I _hate_ that blasted airport! It's ridiculous!" Arthur waved his hands. "Bloody ridiculous, I tell you. I have never seen so many—"

"Try JFK in December and then talk to me. Until then, I don't wanna hear it." I tried to withhold my laughter at Johnny's nonchalant blow-off, but I had a hard time stifling it behind my hand. "Besides, we've got bigger fish to fry right now." He looked toward Thomas, who took the cue to step forward. "Listen to the hick and we'll get this show on the road."

"I swear to God, New York!"

Alfred interrupted before another argument could start. I felt as if I were in the middle of a powder keg. Between Thomas and John and Jane, there was enough nitroglycerin to blow up all of Nashville. Add in Arthur, who was quietly steaming by the stairs, and it felt like we would never progress past arguments. How in the world could these people stand each other when they so obviously loved fighting? My eyes slipped over toward where Alfred was dragging a hand through his hair. His cowlick returned to where it once had been. "Dudes! And dudettes!" Jane rolled her eyes while I just smiled. "We don't have time for this, yo. In case you forgot, the shit hit the fan yesterday."

The reality hit me like a freight train. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. I had forgotten. For however short a time, I had forgotten. How could I forget that Donny was—A secondary wave of anxiety hit me. I had forgotten that Donny was dead. My breathing hitched uncomfortably, as I blindly reached out to take hold of someone, anyone who could keep me balanced.

Of course there were always moments when my amnesia would make me forget things, sometimes everything for a short period of time. Generally, that was whenever I was tired. I had forgotten the robbery, the night spent at Loraine's house, and the death of her husband. Taking a deep breath, I tried to work through the panic.

It was understandable. I was still exhausted from the lack of sleep, no matter how long of a nap I had taken. My memory just wasn't reliable anymore. It was more _what_ I forgot, rather than the fact that I had forgotten it.

"Shelly?" Alfred cradled my arm and held me up as I leaned into him. I was slowly coming back to my senses, vision still unfocused. I was very much aware of how closely I was being watched. "What's up, Michelle?"

"I forgot," I murmured. I allowed Alfred to steer me into the nearby sitting room, easing me onto the antique sofa. In an instant, Johnny was at my other side. He started rubbing circles on my back, trying to soothe me. The action only made me more anxious. I pulled away from him and I heard Alfred mutter something under his breath. At that, John withdrew entirely and stepped away. I didn't mean to hurt him. "I'm—"

"Don't apologize," Johnny replied immediately. "I didn't realize that you hate having your back rubbed like that."

So that must've been what Alfred told him. I nodded my head and tried to regulate my breathing.

Panic attacks like that were rare, but normal for my condition. It was a symptom of the amnesia, moments of transient memory loss. The degree of it varied. I could forget everything for a few moments or one thing for up to an hour or longer. More often than not, those bouts would lead to panic attacks. The last one of that magnitude happened while I was at the museum one day. I had forgotten how to get back to my office. It was Donny that found me in the south corridor and led me back to familiar territory. He comforted me, told me that I would remember the directions soon enough. Said he had brothers in arms that had memory issues that were spawned from their PTSD in the Korean War. Sure enough, I remembered the entire layout of the museum the next day.

"Care to explain what _that_ was?" My head rose from where I was holding it in my hands. Arthur stood on the other side of the opposite sofa, his arms crossed. There was some concern there, but it was largely overridden by irritation. His eyes were narrowed critically in my direction. I couldn't look at him any longer and I instead searched for someone to explain my predicament. "It looked like a bout of mania."

"She's got amnesia." Thomas explained, settling himself into a seat. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Pretty serious global amnesia, actually. It's not debilitating, but it does affect her day-to-day life. At times, she forgets things. And, after she was found on a street in Germany, she couldn't remember the previous two years. " He glanced to Alfred and made a gesture that seemed to say 'go on.'

Alfred looked at me for a moment before sighing. He patted my arm and grimaced. "Say, Arthur, do you remember a woman…Michelle Daniels? From about seventy years ago?"

Arthur's thick brows rose and he looked a little nonplussed by the strange question. His eyes flickered to me, obviously trying to figure out if I was in on the secret of whatever they were. Just to clarify that I wasn't yet privy to that information, I shook my head and shrugged. Still I was anxious to hear his answer. "I—I do not believe so. Why do you ask?" Though he had just sat a few moments before, Thomas stood and walked out of the room. I felt my heart begin to beat faster and faster. I knew what was coming.

The globe.

"What's this all about?" Agent Randolph spoke up. She stepped forward into the circle that had been formed. Her sharp eyes turned to me and she nodded her head in my direction. I refocused onto her, trying not to back down in her presence. "_She's_ Michelle Daniels. She's twenty-seven. Seventy years ago, she wouldn't have even been born. Obviously, Arthur hasn't met her. What the hell kind of shenanigans are you fools tryin' to pull?" I noticed a small Southern accent come out in her voice as she grew more aggravated.

Arthur looked to me, eyeing my facial features critically before shaking his head. "I've never met her before in my life."

"You have." Alfred stated evenly. "You just don't remember."

A heavy silence fell over the room before Thomas stepped inside, the gemstone globe held in his right hand. "It'd be _a lot_ easier if you didn't ask questions. Just touch the globe. You'll understand afterward." He moved to stand between the sofas, placing the object on the coffee table. His eyes caught mine and he gave the most comforting smile he seemed to be able to muster. Beside me, Alfred gestured for Arthur to step forward. Arthur eyed him critically before shaking his head.

"No, I think you should explain first. Why is this woman here and why did you drag me all the way across the pond for this little dinner party?" His arms crossed over his chest and I felt my vision become unfocused momentarily. He did that a lot, back then. It was a mannerism of his, crossing his arms, whenever he felt defensive or passionate about his opinion. I pulled my brows together, watching the skepticism on his face. "Unless this is some kind of emergency, you wouldn't call me out of a Union meeting, so what is the problem?"

Seeming to feed off of Arthur's reluctance, Jane shook her head and stepped back. "I'm not touching it. There's no telling what you guys—"

"I can make it an order, Jane." Alfred stated easily as he lowered himself into the sofa next to me. I could feel the nervous energy flowing off of him. His head shook solemnly. There was something darker in his eyes and I wondered if I had ever known what it meant to be 'ordered' to do something. It certainly had more gravity than mere words or power with these people. "Please don't make me order you. You know I hate it."

She stiffened, eyes alight with something fierce. For a woman I had expected to thrive on orders, she seemed to find the very idea arborous. Maybe she wasn't quite as by-the-book as I thought. "You can't—"

"I can and I will," the man next to me nodded gravely. "Just because I haven't used that ability in a while doesn't mean that I don't still have it. I'll order you to touch that globe if I have to, Jane. Don't force my hand." He sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. A hand came to rest on my shoulder and jumped in surprise, turning to see John towering over me from behind the sofa. He smiled down, trying to give me strength. Even so, I could feel his hand shaking just slightly. "This situation is way more complicated than you can hope to understand." Woah, that was quite a jab at her intelligence. The corners of her lips turned downward. John's hand tightened on my shoulder.

In one swift movement, she was sitting on the opposite couch and her fingers were falling over the top of the globe. Her eyes widened and her body went still, as if she had been frozen. After a few moments, her mouth opened just slightly and she turned to face me. There was obvious confusion in her expression, along with something else—something I didn't quite expect. Respect. I saw that sentiment shoved aside a moment later, when she flew to her feet. "What _the hell_ was that?"

John leaned over to Thomas and smirked, holding out his free hand. "I told ya, buddy. Pay up." Muttering something under his breath, Tommy reached into his jean pocket and withdrew a five, slapping it into Johnny's hand. "Thank you!"

"That's not possible!"

"Not probable," Alfred agreed with a huge smile. "It's totally true. It's her. Imagine mine and Johnny's reactions when we found out. It's a crazy feeling, right? Like you were in two places at once. Your mind kind of splits off. It's crazy that she could be here, considering what happened. That's why Arthur's here. As much as I don't wanna admit it, he's pretty freakin' well-informed on _crazy shit_ like this. Right, Iggy?"

"Don't call me that!" Arthur shouted. His eyes immediately turned to me and he bowed his head politely as if to apologize for his volume. He was quite the gentleman, I realized. Something felt off about that thought though. I couldn't say what, but it felt slightly _wrong_. "I'm sorry, Miss. It's just that…idiot. Often sets out to make me look the fool. Like trying to get me to touch that relic." I smiled, feeling a little tension ebbing away at the look of utter cynicism on his face. He didn't believe jack of what Alfred, Johnny, and Tommy were telling him. Not one bit. "I think you're all mad. To put it in words you might understand: what the bloody hell is going on here?"

"Touch the globe and find out." John challenged. "I thought you were an explorer or a pirate or a soldier or a King or a man. If you're any of those, touch the damn globe and get it over with."

Arthur visibly stiffened, eyes narrowing dangerously. "How dare you!"

Before things could get out of hand, I decided it was time I spoke up. It was clear that he wouldn't listen to anyone else. Maybe there was a chance he would listen to me. "I know it sounds strange. And I know that these three aren't particularly trustworthy or convincing." All three men around me squawked in protest, but I dutifully ignored them. "Agent Randolph, did the globe cause you any harm?" She turned to from where she had been lost in her own thoughts. After a moment, her head shook. "It won't harm you. If it works the same with you as with everyone else here, it will give you a few memories."

He watched me carefully, looking for any trace of falsehood in my eyes. I honestly hoped that he would agree. I wanted this whole affair over with sooner rather than later and if he kept dragging it out, I wasn't sure that my heart could handle it. After a moment, he huffed and his shoulders slumped forward in defeat. "Fine." Arthur's attention shifted to Alfred as he trudged forward to sit on the opposite sofa. "I'll hold you personally responsible, I hope you know." Alfred just grinned, folding his arms behind his head as he sat back. "All of you."

"Point taken, Arthur." Thomas agreed.

The British man reached forward then and slowly lowered his right hand to rest upon the globe. The effect was immediate. As soon as his skin made contact with the marble and lapis, he went inhumanly still. I felt my breath catch. This was all too unbelievable. A magic globe that gives people memories? That magic globe being connected to my disappearance and amnesia. It was all so insane. And maybe that was it. What if none of this was real? What if the blast had done more damage than just amnesia? What if I was really in a coma, still trapped in that German hospital? His left hand began to shake as he stared straight ahead, straight toward me. I couldn't look away, couldn't blink. There was such a violent flurry of emotions on his face and, even though I knew he couldn't see me, I felt tears fill my eyes. Sadness, fear, anger. All of them in those bright green eyes, all of them striking me in the gut with every flinch.

Was it okay to do this?

He was reliving whatever horror had happened in that "alternate timeline."

I wasn't worth that kind of suffering.

Was it better to unaware of how things had once been?

He gasped in a breath and released the globe as if he had been burned, eyes impossibly wide. He blinked once, then twice, but that expression of fearful surprise never faded. There was a moment of speculative silence, each of us waiting for something—for absolution. Why absolution though? Why was forgiveness the one thing that I could think of that moment? Probably because I could see how upset he truly was. I wanted to apologize for the agony in his expression. After a few seconds of silence, Arthur's brows pulled together and he shakily rose to his feet. His eyes never left mine and something told me to mirror his movements.

I rose to my feet, heart thundering in my chest. Carefully, I moved around the coffee table and stopped. My hands were quivering, chest almost feeling numb with nervous energy. I wasn't willing to move any closer to him. It was possible that he didn't remember anything of the—

"You don't recall any of it…do you?" His voice was thick, emotional. His eyes were focused, not on my face, but on my leg. The grimness of his question made heat well behind my eyes and nose. I could tell just from the way he was speaking: he wished that this was all just some joke. He had known me back then, that much was clear. That much was obvious in the way he was holding himself together, as if he would break with one errant word. When I didn't answer, his hand reached out to rest on the curve of my neck and shoulder. His eyes lifted to my face, my eyes. I didn't withdraw or look away. I couldn't. I was caught in his gravity. The warmth of his hand on my skin was comforting, but it felt distant. "You can't remember," he breathed.

My head shook, but I didn't trust myself to speak.

His gaze lowered from my face again. He never moved to embrace me, not like Alfred and John had done upon first seeing me. Instead, he maintained his distance. His hand slipped from my neck and he stood there, quietly thinking. I couldn't imagine the maelstrom that was thundering in his mind. I could only feel my own fear.

"Yo, Iggy! You gonna stand there forever or—"

"It was Norway," he growled.

Everyone went silent as Arthur lifted his head. I felt confusion overtake me. Norway? What did he mean by that? It seemed impossible for a whole country to do something like this. Still, something about his declaration felt right, as if I had known it all along. Alfred seemed to clue in on my confusion first and he was on his feet in an instant, arm snaking around my still shaking body. "Uh, dude—We haven't told her about all tha—"

"It was Norway, damn it! He did this! _He did this to her!_" Arthur threw his arm toward me in a wild gesture. "I remember it. Just when she agreed to the deal, Norway was casting a spell. He had this globe in his hands. It was blood magic. I was knocked off my feet by the blast, but I could _hear his words_!" He paced backward before turning his back on the group. "What the bloody _hell_ did he think he was doing? That kind of magic is forbidden for a reason!" He was practically seething, spinning on his heel to face us again. "I'll beat the bloody piss out of him, I swear it. How could he do this? After everything she suffered! After you—" His hands fisted at his sides and he lowered his head against, hiding his face from view.

"Norway?" I felt myself question, though the word felt distant.

Alfred turned me toward him. "There's a lot that you've forgotten, Shelly." That much was obvious, but I didn't have the heart to say so. I just stared at him and nodded my head, still distracted by the distance that Britain was putting between us. Alfred followed my line of sight and sighed, watching as the blond took a deep breath and strode from the room. Alfred sighed a second time, shaking his head. "Give 'im time, Shells. He'll come around. It's a little disorienting. For him, we were trapped, about to lose the war, he was injured, and we just watched you die."

"Got to hand it to him. He didn't lose it. When we first touched the globe, both me and Al cried."

In the silence that came over the living room, a sound could be heard from outside the house. It was a guttural and heart-wrenching yell. I felt my knees weaken and I stumbled back to sit on the sofa, my tear-blurred eyes focusing on the globe. What was it that I was forgetting? What would make a composed man lose control like that? There was so much I didn't know, so much that was locked within that sphere.

I felt my hand moving before I even realized the consequences of my actions. I had to know. I had to understand. I couldn't live in the darkness any longer, without knowledge. I needed to know. I needed to know. No matter what the risk, I had to understand. I wanted to remember these people. I wanted to know why a life had been taken in the pursuit of it.

What were they talking about when they mentioned Norway and why did it feel so right? Why was Arthur so pained? Why did Alfred understand him so much? Why? How?

_I needed to know_.

My hand fell upon the globe just as John caught sight of my movement. Everything seemed to shift into slow motion. His green eyes—eyes so similar to Arthur's— widened as he realized what I was about to do. By the time he had moved to intercept, the world went dark. I could only hear his desperate call and another distant mournful yell. There was a jittery feeling just behind my heart.

"Michelle!"

* * *

**Author's Section**

I hope that everyone enjoyed the chapter. I wanted to get it out now, before the week started. I tried to keep the reactions as realistic as I possibly could. By my characterization, I see Britain as being a bit more…private with his emotions, rather than exuberant. Bear in mind that John and Alfred had some time before they saw Michelle again. They knew how to approach her and had time to think about everything. There will be more on Britain's reaction next chapter (as well as the big reveal), but I hope that I took the right approach with his current characterization. I was actually quite nervous with this reunion.

A few small edits were made since upload.

I have started another story: "Into the Fire." It's in the Merlin fandom with a pretty interesting OC. She's a trip to write, so I hope people will give it a chance. _The updates on this story take precedence._ There should be another couple fics coming in the next couple months.

**Thank you everyone for your reviews for this past chapter! It was so great to read your kind words! Thank you also to the wonderful favorites and follows. **

Due to interest in the subject, I will post a playlist for "A Matter of Time" and for "A Matter of Course" on my profile. It should be up soon. It was really interesting to put together since there is a mix of modern music and music from the forties in there. I hope you all enjoy it.

**Please leave me feedback/reviews/suggestions/cookies. Thank you for reading!**

All the best to everyone.

Reference:

(1) A feedback was a Confederate soldier. This was a derogatory term used by Union soldiers.


	8. Chapter Six

**A Matter of Course**

**By: Dr. Cultural Studies**

**Chapter Six: Conviction**

* * *

"Fiction reveals truth that reality obscures." – Ralph Waldo Emerson

* * *

Reality is that which you perceive.

That was something I learned in my freshman philosophy course. Frankly, I was never one for philosophy. I had always dealt better with the hard facts of history and science rather than the vaporous arguments of Philosophy 101. Often, in that class, we would debate the nature of "reality" itself. What was it? How did we define it? Some argued that it didn't exist while others contended that it was merely what each person could perceive and that knowledge (or what was known as knowledge) stemmed from that perception of your respective reality.

I often favored with the latter of the arguments, though I never really said as much in class. With over three hundred people in one lecture hall, our own opinions were rarely heard. I always thought though, that the perception of reality theory could always be spun to fit my own personal beliefs—that each person represents a culmination of their experiences. Depending on the experiences one has, that person's perception of reality would shift and change.

It was a horrendously deep topic.

I could remember struggling through that term paper, only earning a middle-of-the-road B by the end of it all. Despite trying to be tough about it, I cried after getting the grade back. I worked so hard on that paper.

One thing struck me though, something that I would remember forever: the professor, and I can't recall his name, said that "reality is usually taken for granted until there's a problem with it."

And I could see what he meant.

When my father died, I thought for the longest time that we were in some sort of virtual reality world or that my life was some sort of television show. Because it was stranger than fiction to see him lying in that coffin wearing a suit and tie that completely clashed with his personality. It was "not real" the way the flowers smelled or the way Corey clung onto me like I was the only stable thing in his life. It couldn't be true. I didn't want to see it, believe it. It had to be part of some elaborate game or show. It had to be.

Reality had a very big problem and so I questioned the very existence of it.

In the darkness that swirled around me, I could feel some sort of charge in the air. It was fierce, frightening, making the hairs on my neck stand on end. That charge rippled down my spine until I was shuddering every few seconds. It was cold yet it felt as if my skin were burning, the heat of something was scalding it. I couldn't cry out. My jaw was pressed closed, locked.

This…was nothing like the previous time I touched the globe. This was…different, somehow.

Frightening. There was no comfort here.

Somewhere deep inside myself, I started to question reality.

Could this be happening to me?

Why? How?

Everything that had happened in my life over the past two weeks had been nothing but insanity. It didn't make sense. Finding that globe, those pictures, the flashes of devastating memories that haunted me at all hours of the day, the warmth of the connections I felt with people I barely knew. Alfred. Johnny. Arthur. Donny's murder. All of it was just…horribly disconcerting.

No one ever expects such things to happen in _their_ lives.

Alfred. Johnny. Arthur.

They each felt like a fragment of myself. How could I even begin to describe it?

Like shards of a broken mirror, reflecting only small bits of the image—of my reflection.

Of who I once was.

And, just as I tried to piece everything together, it all fell apart.

When those shards cascaded down in a sickening waterfall, I finally saw something appear. A memory floating out of the darkness. It was like a scene in a black box theatre, all shadow surrounding it while the stage was set in the only light. In that scene, I could see a woman sitting at a table, her expression was frazzled. Alfred and Arthur were in that room as well. They each seemed to be staring in that woman's direction. I felt my stomach give an uncomfortable flip in my abdomen when I saw a carved wood cane.

For some reason, I could hear music in my mind. It sounded distinctly Middle Eastern.

Why did I feel like crying?

My conclusion seemed strange:

He was _gone_.

Who?

Who was gone?

When she turned her head, I recognized the woman.

She was me.

I was her.

My hand rose to my mouth to keep the bile inside. I swallowed it down, heat behind my nose. It burned my throat on the way down. My eyes focused on the scene before me as it came into crisp focus.

Sighing, that 'me' pressed a hand to her head as she sat at that table. It was clear that she had a headache from the way she was cradling my temples. This was all so strange. Foreign yet somehow familiar. It was odd to watch _myself._ "I've known about your status as a Nation since arriving in this world." My throat went dry and I felt my brows pull together. What did 'I' just say? "I can see the edge of your sleeve, Arthur. I really hope that your spy network is better trained."

Spy network? Arthur? Nations?

What did all of this mean?

Arthur—the same one that I had just re-met in Thomas's old plantation home—stepped into the room. His chin was raised. I watched with surprise as that gentleman from before gave 'me' a disdain-filled look. "My spies are the best in the world."

Alfred snorted, catching my attention. He stood at the far side of the memory, a peripheral by the window. I felt my heart fly into an uncomfortable flurry. Around his shoulder hung a jacket that I had only seen in my nightmares. A leather bomber with a '50' on the back. I felt my knees lose some strength. The jacket in my dreams, it was his. That realization was enough to making breathing a little more difficult. "Britain, sending Brits like you into places like France and Italy… They stick out like sore thumbs, dude."

Britain? A nickname?

Yes, that had to be it.

No, that wasn't it.

Something didn't feel right.

"As if you would know! You know nothing of subtlety or the fine art of subter—"

"_Whatever_! Your spies suck."

"I knew about your world because where I come from… this world is fictional."

My legs lost their strength and I crashed to my knees in that almost blinding darkness. The memory continued to play on, despite my attention shifting to the pain. Alfred's voice. The pain in my knees. I had fractured my knee cap before, when my knees had fallen to concrete. It felt so familiar, so true. I had felt that kind of pain before. Somewhere. In someplace just as cold, just as frightening, just as dark.

A corridor.

Gunshots.

And…And blood.

So much blood.

They were shouting.

Alfred was there. Arthur. Others.

I was panicking.

I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't—

"—keep lobbing grenades at us. Did being kidnapped make you tough as nails?"

Grenades.

An explosion.

Images flew through my mind, those from my nightmares. Were they nightmares? No, they were memories. Years of frightening dreams and visions. Memories. They actually happened. To me. Flames threw me back into the middle of concrete coffin. My head hit the floor. Pain. Runes. There was screaming. Someone was screaming. They were calling for me, saying my name. In a flash, suddenly doctors were hovering over me, vision blurred. They were speaking quickly and something was being pushed down my throat. It made me want to gag. I felt cold. I couldn't understand the doctors. What were they saying?

An explosion.

I couldn't—

"—actually fictional.' What're you gonna say next, huh? That you actually hate Johnny's cooking? Or that your world is fictional, too. Or that we exist there and here. Maybe not here and there. Eh, I don't know what the hell I'm sayin'. Just stop throwing declarative grenades!"

With tears blurring my vision, I looked back to the memory. That me—she looked so different. She was rail thin, cheeks sunken and her eyes hollow. Her hair was thinner, far shorter than I would have expected. It was to her ears. There was something about the tired glint in her red-rimmed brown eyes that made my heart stutter. Something terrible had happened to her—to me. I knew instinctually. So many terrible things had happened then. What had happened?

Despite my obvious distress in the memory, that 'me' gave Alfred a patient smile.

"Fiction, right?" He questioned. "So…what? We're not real? I feel pretty dang real, though!"

"Where I come from, you're not _technically_ real. Here, you are very much real." My head shook, mirroring the actions of my past self. This couldn't be true. _This _couldn't be real. Saying that Alfred was fictional and that Arthur was fictional…That kind of thing just wasn't possible. Even if alternate realities were a possibility, they were unlikely. "The nations exist where I'm from, but there are not National embodiments."

National embodiments? Like, what? Personifications? My head began to pound with pain with every beat of my thundering heart. What did all of this mean? What did _any of it _mean? I couldn't recall any fictional work with the world nations personified.

Had my amnesia removed that information from my mind?

"Perhaps there are and you are just unaware of them," Britain—Arthur— said after a moment. He couldn't be _Britain_. That would be crazy. Absolutely crazy. Nations can't be personified like that. It just…didn't make sense.

'My' head shook, "No. I don't think so. Anyway, you're all characters in a work of fiction called 'Hetalia.'"

A rush of something ran through me, through my veins. It felt like a something dangerous had been released in my chest. Knowledge. Knowledge from the heart rather than from the mind. The fluttering feeling was making it even more difficult to breathe. I lost my strength even further, falling forward onto my hands. I stared at the blackness below me. There was no ground, but I could feel it there. It was harsh and unforgiving, like reality.

"Hetala—Wha?"

"Hetalia."

Hetalia.

The memory disappeared as if a television remote had turned it off and I was left in darkness, still on my hands and knees. My breathing was growing more and more ragged. I stared out into the blinding blackness that surrounded me, my eyes wide. That darkness was hurting my eyes to the point that my headache was growing almost unbearable. My ears began to ring for the silence that pressed in on my head. This was far worse than I could have imagined, far more unbelievable than I could ever fathom.

It was true. It was real.

A shaking breath in and a quivering breath out. I couldn't feel my arms.

Out of the silence, a quiet song began to echo. It was nothing more than a whisper at first. The volume grew louder and louder until it was clear. There was no hurry to it. The notes flowed languidly from one to the next. It was _chilling._ My head lifted and I stared into the darkness, searching for the source. I saw none, but I listened.

Japanese. The words were in Japanese.

Still, I knew what was being said.

"Draw a circle," I murmured to myself. "That's the Earth."

I knew this. From so long ago.

Another time.

Another place.

Another _world_.

It couldn't…

Out of nowhere, I felt a pulling sensation grip my chest. It caught me completely by surprise. I gasped, falling back as whatever the force was took hold of my whole body. I was being tugged by my chest, my legs and arms dangling down at painful angles. Tears filled my eyes for the pain of it, lacing down into my fingertips and toes. It was like lightning bolts tearing along my nerves. It felt as if I were rising from the bottom of a pool or lake, submerged under the weight and darkness of water. A white light began to appear at the top and I was rushing toward it as the song grew louder in my ears.

_I am America. _

_I am England. _

When the light became too bright to see, I just closed my eyes and prayed. I just prayed for it all to be over.

And then it was.

Everything went white.

* * *

When I awoke, I couldn't open my eyes. Panic filled me for a few moments. I couldn't recall going to sleep. I couldn't recall anything except my name. Michelle. There was a distinct smell in the room though, wherever I was. Cinnamon and brown sugar. It was that smell that triggered the memories to rush back in like a tidal wave. Thomas. Yes, I could remember. His former plantation home and the big band music playing in John's car. The panic began to ebb away. I had been invited to Thomas's home. From the comfort that surrounded me, I knew I was in a bed and I still couldn't quite bring myself to open my eyes. There was a pressure on my left hand, as if someone were holding it tightly in a vice-like grip. I wondered for a long while who it could be. The grip was strong, determined. Things felt disjointed. Even my thoughts seemed to start and stop.

"You ordered them away." A British voice came out of the silence. I didn't flinch at the sound. I just lay there, listening. My heart was thundering still, from the fear and confusion. "That's not like you, America. You hardly ever order them to do anything anymore."

"John was gonna drive me crazy," Alfred's voice answered. "They can deal with Virginia. Jane's been chomping at the bit for hours. I can deal with the backlash over it. John was seriously gonna drive me crazy..."

America.

Arthur had called him 'America.'

And Alfred had called someone 'Virginia.'

I struggled to keep myself calm. I didn't want to speak to them yet. I just wanted to lay there and listen. I just wanted to gather my composure. I just couldn't think of how to approach the questions that swirled in my mind.

"I'd say he's been doing that for years. New York—" What? John was New York? Nervous energy fluttered in my stomach. "Why stop him now?"

There was a sigh and I felt the hand shift a bit. I faked a small sleep-driven movement so that I could adjust the held hand to a more comfortable position. I gripped him a little tighter, despite my barely restrained fear. "You didn't see her when she first lost consciousness, Britain. It—It was—I've been scared before—" His voice cut off by a scoff. "Look, she just collapsed. She even stopped breathing there for a minute. You might not care—"

"Not care?" Arthur sounded incredulous. I could hear the strain in his voice, as though he had been yelling for hours. I wanted to open my eyes and see him, but I knew that I couldn't. Not yet. Not when I needed so many answers. "You're a bloody imbecile, is what you are. You think I don't _care_? Who was the one who watched her die, huh? Who was holding her hand when she was disappearing? Who was it who held her last? That was _me_, America. I care for her and don't you dare assume otherwise one bloody second." There was a moment of silence before a sigh came from across the room and I could feel tension in the air. "Michelle, honestly, I know you're awake."

I opened my eyes, staring up into the canopy of a century old bed. A moment later, I was enveloped in a warm pair of arms. My instinctual action was to hug Alfred back as tightly as I could, no matter how insecure and confused I felt. His embrace was nothing but love and I felt like that was the only stable thing in my life at the moment: the love I had from my friends and family.

Because it seemed like everything else was going to hell in a handbasket.

"Shelly, I'm so glad you're okay! You—You— It scared the hell out of me—us. We would've called the hospital, but you started breathing again. And we really couldn't tell someone that you had touched a magical globe!" His voice was getting progressively louder and I opened my eyes, looking across the room to where Arthur stood.

"What you did was reckless and stupid."

America pulled away fast, quick to argue…Wait, had I just thought of Alfred as 'America'? Alarm hit me hard, forcing my eyes wide as he readied himself for a fight. "You wanna go, Arthur?"

Arthur shrugged his shoulders, eyes never leaving me. "She knows that what she did was reckless, too. I'm not telling her anything that she didn't already know."

My gaze skittered away from him, flickering toward the windows and then toward the man that sat on the bed next to me. I wondered if I should bring up my questions. I was terrified of the answers though. Scared of what new things would tear my world apart.

Dr. Palmer—my mentor— once said that I would never learn anything if I never asked questions.

Fisting my hands in my lap, I opened my mouth and—

"Shelly, there's somethin' you need to know."

"Alfred!"

I looked over toward the man beside me, watching the way his eyes darted to Arthur momentarily. He seemed far older than he appeared. His shoulders hunched over and his blue eyes seemed to darken. And I knew that I had seen him like this before, when I lived then. He had confided in me things that he had never told anyone. Any human being. His fingers played with mine, hand much larger than my own. I wondered at how calloused his hands were. "Michelle, we're not…normal. You know that. You've known that since you met us."

"And I knew back then. I just…I feel like I know now, but…I don't understand it."

He lifted his eyes from our hands. "We represent the nations of the world." Before I could open my mouth, he flew into an explanation. "No one really knows how it happens, but the countries and nations are personified. Like, I'm America. That's my name. That's what you always used to call me. That dude over there? The one with the big eyebrows?" Arthur let out an indignant squawk. "He's Britain. And I don't mean that he's just British. I mean that he _is _Britain."

I stared at him. Seeing those images in my unconscious state, hearing about this in that dream world…It didn't quite compare to hearing it from the horse's mouth. What was even more unsettling was my immediate acceptance of it all. It didn't even pass my mind that he was crazy or in any way lying to me.

I believed him.

I believed…America.

"I don't like it when she gets like this. It never bodes well." Arthur muttered as he moved closer. He still maintained his distance, but he seemed curious (perhaps morbidly so) in my reaction to the news. "Michelle, do you remember that much? Do you remember what we are?"

My head was nodding before I could stop myself. "Sort-of. It feels like I've known the whole time, but I feel like it's a conscious fact now. I—I remember things, conversations that we've had, but they feel distant."

"It's entirely possible that you could never regain those memories, Michelle." My breath caught at Arthur's honest statement.

"What was that, Britain? How could she—If we just take her to Norway and get him to remove the magic, then she'll get her memories back. That's easy. Norway may not be the most cooperative dude, but he's not heartless." Alfred snaked an arm around my shoulders and I made note that he didn't rub my back. He was careful to avoid the triggers and I wondered how often we had held each other in the past. He seemed so comfortable with it. "If her memory loss is, you know, magical—"

"That's the rub, Alfred. Is it magical? Are we certain of it? She was blown back almost fifteen feet and struck her head hard on the concrete. It's a wonder she survived at all. I wouldn't be surprised if her memory loss is entirely physical in nature." His reasoning was sound and I felt myself nodding along with his statements. The doctors had said as much when I was in the hospital. My memory loss seemed to be mostly physical. "There is a chance that Michelle could never regain all of her former memories." Alfred's arm tightened around me protectively. "Furthermore, there is the obvious possibility that, if it is from Norway's magic, he did this on purpose. There is much to consider here that you're not thinking of. Can't say I'm surprised."

My mouth opened and I intended to ask them about Hetalia, but I stopped myself short. It seemed like the wrong time and that I was going about it the wrong way. I needed more time to think about it before asking the questions. Right now, it would come out as "Are you fictional?" and I knew that I needed to think about the situation quite a bit more before confronting it.

"I do believe that we should confront Norway however. It should be the first step in understanding exactly what happened." Britain turned on his heel and walked to the window. His hands folded behind his back and I saw images layered atop him. It seemed to be something he often did. Him and Alfred. "From there, we can reach our answers. And I will not rule out the possibility of giving Norway a sound thrashing."

I was about to ask a question about 'Norway' before the door crashed open. John stood there, breathing heavily. His shirt was even more rumpled than before and his gold hair was askew. He seemed to be struggling against something, a force pushing him backward out of the room. It was utterly bizarre.

Then again, what wasn't nowadays?

After all, I was in a bedroom with the personifications of America, Britain, and now—"New York?"

He went still, burning gaze shifting from Alfred to me. There was something in his eyes that made me want to hug him. He was thankful. "So…ya know, huh?" When I nodded, John turned to Alfred again and growled lowly in his throat. It was the same growl I had heard Corey use once before when he felt like a coworker of mine had overstepped his bounds once. It was protective and lethal. "You had no right, America! You—"

"I had every right," Alfred muttered as he released his hold on my shoulder. "You were freaking out so much that you were distracting Arthur from helping her. When you become a danger to her, John, I'll remove you from the situation regardless of how wronged you feel." He shifted uncomfortably and I really couldn't blame him. Johnny was madder than I could remember seeing him. "I get it, New York. You know I do, but I had to pull rank." Seeing that John wasn't going to let up on trying to get in the room, despite whatever invisible force was holding him back, America sighed. "You can come in now, New York. You're released from your orders."

Moving faster than I had ever seen, John was by my side. He raised both hands to my cheeks and pressed his forehead to mine. It was odd and I realized in that very moment that it honestly didn't matter what these men were. They were people, my friends and…family. Even if they were the representations of certain nations (which I still had some rational difficulty in believing, regardless of my instinctual acceptance of it), they were dear to me.

"So glad you're okay, doll face." He pulled back. "Don't you ever do something like that again. You got me? I'm not playin', Michelle. You try something like that again and I swear—"

"How'd Jane take it all?"

"Who is Jane?" I questioned of Alfred. When I saw the concern on his face, I clarified. He obviously thought I was having another one of those moments. "She must be one of you, right? She wouldn't be here if she wasn't."

"I'm Virginia," a woman's voice answered from outside of the open door. I turned to see Agent Randolph standing in the doorway. It was the first time I had seen her weary. Her green eyes seemed tired and her shoulders were hunched slightly. She glanced down at the threshold and then looked toward America. She lifted a single brow.

America just looked over at her, raising his own brows in question. For a while, they were at a standoff and quite honestly, I wasn't sure if Alfred was playing with her or if he simply didn't understand her meaning. If his orders were for them to remain out of the room, then she clearly couldn't come inside. More silent seconds passed until Arthur cleared his throat and gave an unpleasant harrumph.

"Let her in, dammit!"

"Oh!" Alfred went to scratch his head. "Whoops! Come on in, Virginia. Matter of fact, come in Tennessee! I know you're out there, too!"

So, he really didn't get her meaning. I shot John a side glance and he merely shrugged his shoulders, clearly amused at seeing his southern neighbor so frustrated. As she stepped into the room, she glared toward where I sat and made her way to a chair in the corner. With far less grace than I had expected, she threw herself down and let out a huff. Johnny rolled his eyes dramatically, shifting his attention to the doorway as Thomas stepped inside.

"So," I wondered. "You're Tennessee."

"In the flesh," he replied with a smile. "Literally."

I looked him over with that knowledge in mind. And somehow, I could see it. What was more, I could sense it. That same feeling that I had gotten upon meeting him: that he was family, that he was somehow, a home. There was a familiar air to him that seemed to be in the very way he held himself. As he took a couple steps forward, John stood up and moved away. There was the smell again: cinnamon and brown sugar. "You're my home state."

"That's right. I know it's kind of crazy to think about." He was standing beside the bed, removing his baseball cap as he lowered himself into a kneeling position. "Now, it probably makes since why I think New York's a jackass." I laughed, having expected something a bit more profound. "You're accepting this pretty easily."

"I think I already knew," I explained. I glanced around the room. John gave me a supportive nod while Jane merely watched from a distance. Her eyes were sharp and unforgiving, daring me to disappoint any of the men in that room. I wasn't intending to. Arthur crossed his arms, now leaning against the wall between the large windows. And then America sent me a large grin. "Don't get me wrong. This is nuts. I just…I know it. I get it. I understand it. Somehow. I don't know."

"Makes sense. You may not have the exact memories to back up your instincts, but that is perfectly normal for your type of amnesia. You remember connections and likely thought of us as connected to our origins quite strongly." Britain explained with a clinical note in his voice. "Do you remember how you knew about our identities?"

America almost seemed to lean toward me in anticipation.

Although I could have asked my questions about Hetalia then, I didn't. I couldn't say why. Something just didn't feel right about asking. Something just didn't feel right in general. I needed to learn more. I needed more knowledge before coming to the table with something so…strange. It was obvious that they couldn't be fictional if they were standing right in front of me.

A breathe seemed to be released by the whole room, though I couldn't quite say why.

"That's okay," Alfred patted my shoulder. "It's cool."

"As touching as all of this is," Agent Randolph spoke up. All attention shifted to her as she lounged in the chair like a cat. Part of me worked to see how she represented Virginia, but I couldn't quite see the connections. At least with Johnny there was his accent and with Thomas there was his personality. With her, I couldn't quite figure it out. "We have bigger issues right now than Sleeping Beauty's fainting spell. There was a man killed less than twenty-four hours ago—in case you forgot—" She shot me a look and I couldn't help but to feel the sting of her words. "—and we have very few leads to go on. So, can we refocus on that for a few minutes? If not, then I need to leave. I have a case to work." It was a good thing that John had positioned himself by the bed once more because I was able to catch the belt loop of his jeans as he started forward.

"She's right," I agreed. John gave me an incredulous look. "Donny was murdered yesterday and, as much as I would love to understand everything at the drop of a hat, the case takes precedent."

"It takes pre—"

I reached over and took hold of the sheet that rested over my legs, pulling it back and swinging them over the side in one swift movement. For a moment, my head swam.

"I swear…the lot of you." Arthur muttered as Alfred ran around the bed. John was the only one keeping quiet, merely holding out his arm for me to use as leverage as I maneuvered to keep my balance. Once my dizziness faded, I turned toward Agent Randolph. Arthur snorted under his breath. "Some things never change."

"What have you figured out?"

She eyed me for a moment before crossing her arms. "There were three men, all of which were clothed in black. One was strong enough to ram that outer door open. It seemed that they were after one specific item. Every other archived item has been accounted for, save for that one. Those men were after the globe. I'm certain of it."

I couldn't quite bring myself to move. If they were after the globe, then Donny possibly died because it wasn't there. And it wasn't there because Thomas had been keeping it safe-hidden for the past two weeks. Guilt welled within me. If all this hadn't happened, Donny would still be alive.

"Okay, so they're after the globe. Why would they be after it though?" Alfred's brows pulled together. For some reason, all heads turned toward Arthur as if he had the answer. I couldn't quite say why my head did the same.

He looked surprised at the attention. "What? I have no more knowledge of this than any of you. I just learned of it today!"

"You said Norway was the one casting the spell. Did you notice anything else? I don't know if you remember, dude, but I was shot in the chest when all of this went down." I whipped my head around to look at him, to make sure he was alright. He seemed to catch the look and smiled widely, brushing a hand over his chest where I suspected he had been shot. "I'm alright, Shelly. It was just a flesh wound."

"Flesh wound, my lily white arse." Arthur bit out. "It was a fair bit more than that…" His expression grew contemplative. "Truly, I think our first order of business should be to confront Norway. He will know far more than anyone, as much as I hate to admit aloud."

"If he doesn't remember?" Johnny put forward. "No one has remembered anything of that alternate timeline."

"Then we make him remember," Jane answered as if it were obviou. "You have that magic globe. Let's use it for something productive."

"Besides, what was he doing sending those items to a random American museum anyway?" Thomas's statement brought every eye to him. He scratched the back of his head and bit his lip before straightening his stance. "Norway is a smart man. You really think he would just send a journal, a globe, a bunch of pictures, and all that to some national American museum. Logically, that doesn't make a lick of sense." He had a point. "Furthermore, how would those robbers know where to look?"

Silence fell over the room for a few seconds and it felt as if a weight had been dropped onto all of those within. I felt anxious, more anxious than I had felt earlier. If they were going to speak to Norway, then I wanted to go along with them. However, I couldn't feasibly drop everything and go on some crazy adventure. I had my mother and brother to think of. I had bills to pay. I had a job to keep. Even so, I felt like I was compelled to do this. I needed to do it, just like I felt like I needed to touch that globe hours before.

"America, make the call." Arthur nodded after a moment. "We're headed to Os—"

The sound of an old telephone cut through the tension like the blade of a guillotine. I jumped at the suddenness of it. Beside me, I felt John do the same. Alfred scrambled to pull his phone from his pocket, earning a deadpan stare from Arthur and Jane (both of which seemed to have many of the same expressions). He sent them a grin and answered: "Sup, dude?" His eyes went wide and he made a stopping motion with his hand. I felt my pulse quicken. "Mattie, dude, you need to chill. What's goin' on?"

Before I could listen harder for the answer, another ringtone went off. This time Arthur jumped at the sound of the Beatles crooning out loudly in the silence. He gave us a look of worry and turned his back, putting the phone to his ear. "One-nine-five-three." I watched him warily, noticing the way his shoulders tensed and the way his lips parted slightly. "You must be joking."

"Dude, that ain't—"

Another two cellphones began to ring and I looked between Thomas and Jane. They both answered immediately. Despite the heavy atmosphere of the room, Jane's ringtone surprised me. It was an older song from Missy Elliot and she didn't look a bit embarrassed by the clashing ringtone.

John pulled out his phone and stared at it, clearly waiting for the call. His hand gasped onto mine and I looked up at him. For a moment, he glanced away from his phone and looked into my face. There was something haunting him in that moment. He appeared so scared of what was to come. I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze just as the music began to play and the screen lit up. I glanced down to see 'George' written on the screen. He looked toward the others and then gave me a grimace, answer the phone with a swipe of his finger over the screen. "What's wrong?"

I released his hand, stepping forward as Alfred lowered his phone from his ear. Apprehension seemed to be eating me alive. Quivering, I reached out a hand to rest it on his shoulder. He turned just slightly, expression dark. "What—What happened?"

"A world meeting has been called," he answered. His gaze flickered over to where Arthur was ending his call. Arthur's chin rose and he gave a single nod, seeming to indicate that he had heard the same information. Sighing, Alfred seemed to have the entire world upon his shoulders. There was something odd in the way he shifted his weight. "Norway's disappeared."

"Disappeared?"

"He was abducted," Jane stepped forward. She slipped her cellphone into the pocket of her pinstriped trouser. "My sources tell me that he was last seen at a bar with Denmark. His home is Oslo was ransacked. There were indications of a struggle. Blood spatter was found in the hall way."

"Your sources? You're not a spy anymore, Jane." Thomas argued tiredly. He also slipped his phone away into his worn jeans. He removed his hat and ran a hand over his head before replacing it back onto his head. "I just spoke to North Carolina. He says that he spoke to Belgium less than an hour ago. She said that there were three attackers. They've already reviewed the security footage around Norway's home. Right now, the Nations are prepping for an emergency session."

Finally, John ended his call. I turned to him, nervous for what information he would have. I gripped the hem of my pants to hide my shaking hands. He ran a hand through his hair and lifted his head, his lips set into a thin line. I felt a thrill of nervous energy behind my heart. "The Nations are meeting in New York City, at the United Nations Annex." His knuckles were white. "They're a step ahead of us." He was referring to the three men. "They're gonna try and get the information out of Norway himself."

"Norway's not a coward. He won't tell them a thing. That's assuming that he was, indeed, taken against his will." Arthur reassured. He shifted and glanced toward Agent Randolph, who was staring at the floor in thought. "Jane. You need to get those other items. You mentioned a journal. We'll need it. Anything that was submitted in that box, we need."

I felt myself shift. My hands fisted even tighter at my sides. "I have things that were submitted with the box. They were never archived." Shame hit me like a freight train, compounding with the fear and apprehension I felt. It was stifling.

"What—"

Before they could say it, I cut them off. My shin rose a bit. "I stole them." Alfred's jaw dropped and at any other time it might have been comical. I shifted self-consciously under the stare that I received from Arthur and Jane. "They were photographs. Of you all. I didn't know it at the time. I grabbed them before they could be archived. I still have them at home. I just couldn't….I needed to know."

John shifted and pushed his hands into his pockets. "Seems…some things do change."

"Of course they do," Arthur murmured. "I wonder if you're noticing the one thing that absolutely has not changed." I looked to him and it seemed like there was something in his eyes. It was strange because I could have sworn that there had been disappointment there before. Instead, there was some strange odd show of pride there. His lips twisted in a way that had me realizing just what he was. If he truly was Britain, then his history was far from shining innocence. He was once a pirate. "Tell me, Michelle, how far would you go to uncover the truth?"

"I—"

"Desperation can drive people to do the damnedest things. Never would have pictured you as a thief and yet, you stole something from a place you so well respected." He paced forward by a few steps. "How far would you go to understand all of this? To understand yourself and to find those murderers. To find Norway. How far would you go?"

"You already know that, Britain! You've seen it before. You know how far she'll go—"

"I want to hear her say it!" Arthur shouted. "If she doesn't, then she will struggle with every decision from this point forward. Her life has just taken a turn for the bizarre, for the worst. She needs her confidence, now more than ever."

I cringed backward at the volume of it.

"Back off, Arthur!" John warned as he stepped a bit in front of me.

This had happened before.

I felt my back straighten and my posture became impossibly proud. It felt foreign to me, but at the same time I felt like I had recovered a bit of myself. I shifted myself around New York and ignored my frantically beating heart. I knew the answer. I knew what I would do to figure out what had happened all those years ago, to understand just what Hetalia was and how it was real, to find Donny's killers, to find Norway. I'd do anything to protect the people around me.

"I'd do anything," I said without hesitation and I meant it wholeheartedly.

My previous thoughts of my ties to Nashville were severed.

I had thought something similar before.

That I would do anything for them.

That I would do anything to set things right.

Was I so strong back then?

Could I be that strong now?

"Michelle!" Thomas sounded surprised.

I saw Alfred move back to sit on the edge of the bed, his head shaking. "Nothing good came of it, ya know."

"Britain, don't—"

Arthur gave me an almost feral grin and leaned forward to level his eyes with mine. It was an almost intimate moment, but I felt nothing except fear at my own conviction. His voice was low and his head nodded ever so slightly. "Of you, Michelle, I would expect nothing less. You have always possessed more conviction in you than any other person I've ever met. You are far stronger than you even know. I would expect nothing less than your best effort, no matter the dangers, no matter the fear that lies in your heart." He leaned back again. "You're going to follow this through to the end."

Of myself, I would expect nothing less. He was speaking of the 'me' that no longer exist save in their memories and she was being projected onto me as if we were the same person. And perhaps to some degree we were. But I hadn't endured all that she had. To see someone so regal put those expectation onto me...I found myself wanting to live up to myself. I wanted to live up to the memory that they possessed of that woman with the sunken cheeks and thin hair. I wanted to be strong and I knew...I knew that I had the capacity for it. My head nodded and he gave me a victoriously smug smile. "I'll follow this through."

And I would.

To the end.

* * *

**Author's Section**

I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. And, while I would have loved to write more, I simply didn't have the time. I made time to write fan fiction, despite it all. Since I was stretched for time, I was unable to respond to reviews this go around. I will a answer this set though to make up for that neglect!

So, in this chapter, some questions were answered…and some more questions were raised.

I hope my characterizations worked out well enough. Michelle is now starting to struggle with who she is and who she was. And Norway has gone missing. Perhaps he's not the bad guy in this after all? Or maybe he is ? Who can say? And what about those three mysterious men? We'll find out soon enough!

Also, I want to extend a huge thank you to the reviewers over at the Human Hetalia OC Tumblr. Wolf reviewed "A Matter of Time" and I appreciated every word. She pointed out some of the flaws in my writing (most of which I am trying to remedy) and also helped to get the word out about my story. They review and help authors who write human OC (obviously) and their help to the community has been priceless. Just wanted to give them a shout out.

**Announcing a new story:** "Ten Things" has been posted and I look forward to writing more on it. Basically, it is answering the call some have made for me to write a piece on the States. Please head over there and give it a read. I look forward to hearing your thoughts.

**Thank you all for the wonderful reviews, favorites, and follows. Each new notification makes my heart soar. Thank you for reading! **

Please leave me reviews/feedback/cookies.

All the best!


	9. Chapter Seven

**A Matter of Course **

**By: Dr. Cultural Studies **

**Chapter Seven: Red**

* * *

"Our greatest glory is not in never failing, but rising up every time we fail." – Ralph Waldo Emerson

* * *

My hands were shaking as I watched Johnny put my bag into the back of the car from my bedroom window. I had packed enough for a week, but something strange was telling me that I would be gone much longer than that. Call it instinct, call it fear. I was scared, more so than I had been since I had awakened in that German hospital. I could deal with my memory loss, but finding myself in the middle of this (for lack of a better term) international crime spree…I didn't quite know what to do. I knew I needed to settle myself and think logically, but it was a difficult task. Everything was moving so fast that I had a hard time contemplating every little thing that had happened over the past twenty-four hour. Instead of pondering it, I pulled my gaze away from the cars outside and reached my quivering hand into my desk drawer.

The pictures were eerie. Black and white images of people I had seen in person. People that I knew.

"Michelle?" I turned quickly, tossing the pictures into my carryon bag atop my journal. Momma stood in the doorway to my room, concern marking her face. She looked older than she had in a while, wrinkles etched across her forehead. "What's going on?" She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, clearly wanting some privacy with me. "John said that you're going up to New York."

Damn it, John. I grimaced, pulling the zipper closed on my bag. I pulled the strap over my head and let it rest crossways over my chest. I had to lie to my mother. How could I possibly tell her the truth? The sheer impossibility of it would have sent her into hysterics. For her own sake, I needed to keep her as far from this as possible. If I had to suffer the consequences, so be it. "I need to get away for a while. I feel—Really stressed out. I can't…I can't go back to the museum. Not when—" Somehow, I found myself telling the truth. I merely kept the details to myself.

Mom closed the space between us, pulling me into a hug. I pressed my face into her shoulder, not wanting to leave at all. I wanted to just stay with her, settling into my completely normal life and throw those memories to the wind. I could just give all that knowledge up. When I opened my eyes, I found myself staring at a picture of Dr. Higgens, Donny, and myself.

"I have to go." My voice was impossibly thick with my withheld tears. I knew that I would not cry or lose my composure. I was going to be stronger than that. "I'm sorry, Momma. I'll be back soon. I promise."

She held me a little tighter before stepping back. "Take your time, baby." Her eyes were not filled with tears nor did she look at all upset. She just seemed to accept my words, obviously not wanting to push me for specific answers. "You need to call me every couple of days, alright? Let me know you're okay." I nodded. "John promised me that he would protect you."

Of that, I had no doubt. John had been adamant about taking me home first to gather my things, even though Alfred and Arthur were arguing for immediate departure. We were all flying out at nine in the morning, arriving in time for the six o'clock emergency session. He said that I deserved that much before they thrust me into the flames. I thought that he was being dramatic, but he seemed very convinced that things were going to go terribly awry at the meeting.

"They have a tendency to do that," he had said. "Things go bat shit when all the Nations get together."

"Momma, are you really alright with this?" I questioned as she straightened the collar of my white button-up shirt. She absently brushed the black specs from the short sleeves. "Don't you think this is sudden?"

"It's very sudden, Michelle. And I won't say that I'm not worried. I am." She smiled, but that smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm worried, but you are a grown woman. You can make your own decisions. You have been planning a trip to Washington for two weeks or so. Moving it up because of Donny's death, it is understandable. I know you need something to get your mind off the loss. With the museum closed, you have very little to occupy your time." She shifted and brushed my hair off my shoulder and patted my cheek. "You always need something to do. You're like your father. He could never sit still."

I pulled on the strap of my bag and gave her a slight smile. She had reasoned out this trip herself and had saved me the need to lie. I wondered if she really believed all that or if she was just giving me an easy out? I couldn't really say.

She stepped back and reached to open the door. "You might want to wait and text Corey when you get on the plane. He's not gonna be happy."

"He likes John well enough now. At least, I think he does." I moved out into the hallway and flipped off the overhead light in my room. "Those two are confusing. One minute, they're fine. The next, they hate each o—" I stopped at the end of the hallway, seeing Corey leaning against the breakfast counter in the kitchen. I quickly turned to my mother and she merely held up her hands in innocence. She looked equally surprised by his sudden presence. "Uh, what's up, Cor?"

"What's up?" He whirled around. I stopped while Mom pushed past me into the kitchen. Corey really needed to start remembering our ages. "What's up is that I came over to see if you and John wanted to grab breakfast and—You're going to New York? Now? What the hell—"

"Language, please." Momma commented off-handedly as she moved around the counter. Johnny was standing on the other side filling two thermos containers. She rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder, squeezing it before she reached for her cup as well. "I'm running late this morning. John, if you will please…" Her mug was sat on the counter as she moved to get the waffles from the freezer. "Corey, your sister is a grown woman. Let her do what she wants."

"She's running off with some guy!"

My eyes rolled when I caught Johnny's smirk. "We're not a couple. John's like a brother to me. Will you please stop glaring, Corey? You're not twelve." I walked forward, reaching for my thermos. "I am ready when you are." John gave me a firm nod, twisting the cap onto his coffee. Black this morning. I took a small sip of my own, noting that it was just the way I liked it. If there was ever affirmation in my actions, it always had to be something small—like the fact that John knew exactly how I liked my coffee. Turning to Corey, I held my arms open for him. "I'll text you to let you know I'm safe. I just need to get out a Nashville for a little while."

Corey studied me for a moment before sighing. He didn't move toward me just yet, eyes shifting to where John was giving my mother a hug. "Yo, JJ. You better take care of my sister. I want you to know I'm an Army Ranger. No matter where you go I'll find you and I'll beat the ever-lovin'—" Momma narrowed her eyes and I had to laugh at how fast my intimidating little brother was cowed. "I'll hunt you down, buddy. One scratch. Try me."

"I'd expect nothing less, dude." John nodded. "Don't worry. I'll protect her." Corey stared at him for a second before accepting my proffered hug. He moved from me to John, holding out his hand for a shake. John smiled widely, taking my brother's hand. They did that hand shake with a chest bump thing. Johnny laughed, eyes twinkling toward me. "Looks like I'm a part of the family now, Shelly. How ya feel about that?"

For that short moment, the world seemed _perfect_. I wanted it to stay like that: normal, safe. I wanted to stay with my mother, my brother, with my family. I wanted my life to return to what it once was. Yet, I knew it wasn't to be. I knew that I had things to do. I knew I had to be strong if I wanted to face the future. There was no backing out now, no backing down. I just smiled at my family, accepting in my mind that everything would never be the same again. Whenever I returned home, I would not be the same person—assuming that I was able to return home at all…

I smiled and stepped forward, resting my hand on Corey's shoulder. Momma twisted an arm around John's shoulder. Soon, I would be leaving this.

Soon.

Too soon.

* * *

The plane was lowering into LaGuardia Airport as I observed out of the first-class window. Although I had tried (with little success) to argue with Alfred over the expense, he had ignored every word I had said. Instead, he told me that it was just to appease Arthur. My head had shaken in realization that America was showing off. He was showing that he had enough money to foot the bill for five first-class tickets. Why five tickets? Thomas had elected to stay behind, citing the fact that someone should protect and look out for my family until everything settled down. At this, I had pulled him into my arms and hugged him to me as tightly as I could. I was utterly grateful that he had taken that upon himself because I could have never asked it of him.

As the plane grew closer and closer to the ground, I started to see flashes of another similar scene—of a less built-up Queens growing closer and closer. I had flown into this same airport nearly eighty years ago, I realized.

"It's been a long time. I mean, it doesn't feel like it….then again, it does." The personification of New York said from his seat beside me. Somewhere over the sound of the plane's engines and the baby crying three rows back, I could hear Alfred's loud voice talking to Arthur. I glanced over to see that the Englishman had a pair of earphones in his ears and there was a very dour expression on his face. I could only imagine what it would have been like to fly with Alfred on a longer trip. My gaze shifted back to the foreground, where John was watching my expression carefully. "I can't describe how it feels to have two sets of memories."

"Don't try to describe it," I smiled slightly and tried to focus my mind on something other than the images of 1940s New York City. In my mind, I could almost hear trumpets and drums. It was haunting. "Just—Just let it be for now. There are bigger concerns anyway. What time is the meeting?"

"Starts at six. We have Nations flying in from all over the world, so it's best to start it later in the evening." He shifted and checked his watch. "It's already noon. We'll get you settled into my house. Everyone can get changed and maybe get a little rest before tonight. We'll grab somethin' to eat on the way there."

It felt very businesslike and I wondered if he had gathered my establishing some distance. I really couldn't pinpoint why I was doing that—taking on a professional persona. It felt more comfortable, like I could analyze and theorize while being objective. It was easier than facing my feelings of apprehension. I had to be logical in this situation or everything would go to hell fast.

"Dude, Shelly!" I turned to see Arthur rolling his eyes dramatically, muttering something under his breath. Alfred's eyes were alight with humor. "I preferred when we could get off on the runway!" He looked hopeful, as if that would bring out a memory or some realization. I just smiled and shook my head. He only deflated a small bit, shoulder sagging. "No biggie! Dude, Iggy—"

"_Don't_ call me that!"

"—gotta try NYC pizza while we're here! We'll go to Dino's!"

"It's still open?" I asked without thought. Johnny whipped his head around to grin at me. I shrugged my shoulders, unable to explain how I knew of Dino's and their delicious pizzas.

"I've tried it before. And this isn't a holiday—"

"Holiday? You mean a vacation? Well, dude, I know that…but we gotta eat something, right?"

"Can you both be a little more mature?" Jane's voice cut out of nowhere. She was sitting in the second row, aisle. Her expression was a step above freezing and she was clearly at her wit's end with Alfred's obnoxious behavior. Her arms crossed and she leaned forward ever so slightly. Her blonde hair caught the sunlight refracted from the far-off clouds. She looked so much like Arthur. "Don't make me repeat it."

"Ease up, Ginny." Alfred waved with a grin.

She visibly tensed. "My name is _Jane_."

Johnny let out a sigh and sat back, while I still watched the scene. He closed his eyes and chuckled. "Uh oh." It was mirthless though. "We'll hear about this for hours now. He's got her hooked and now he's just gonna play with her."

I observed as America did exactly that.

* * *

We were entering into one of the more affluent neighborhoods, as evidenced by the brick-front townhomes, flower planters, and park benches. Although my study in graduate school had nothing to do with architecture (history was enough, believe me), I could guess that there was some Federalist style in the designs, as evidenced by the black shutters and brick fronts. The only reason I knew that much was because of my architecture-obsessed roommate from Old Miss. The buildings that lined the street were likely built in the seventeen hundreds or so and had been very well kept since that time. Though a few of the house fronts appeared won with time, many were still an auburn-red color. I could just imagine how the street would have looked eighty years prior.

There would have been old cars along the street—rounded wheel houses and chrome niceties. Benny Goodman would have poured out of windows. The smog would have been lighter, less obtrusive to the general air of the city. It would have been…gorgeous.

And I could only imagine the way I reacted to such a scene.

I was probably fascinated by it all.

John pulled his slick Saab town car into a space in front of a brick-faced townhouse. An American flag was perched outside the front door, flapping proudly in the light breeze. A fuzzy memory flashed in my mind. I recognized this home. It was his. Mine. Some pink flowers resided within a faded black flower box on the bay window. Those flowers were wilted with the summer sun and slight neglect. I had tended those flowers. "Here we are! Hold on, Michelle." I paused in opening the door and waited until John had whisked the door open himself, gesturing grandly toward his home.

In the twenty-first century, such chivalry was rare.

Then I realized that he was mimicking his motions from before. I sent him a small smile, stepping out onto the sidewalk.

"Welcome to the Empire State," he said smugly. He glanced toward the others who rested in the car, watching the whole exchange. "The rest of you can get out yourselves." He turned and strode up the concrete front steps. "We don't have much time before the meeting. Just enough time to get some rest and to change clothes. Michelle, I'm putting you into your old room." His gaze skittered over toward Arthur and Jane. "Iggy—"

"That's not—"

"—you're on the third floor with Jane. Jane you get your usual room, away from everyone else." I saw her lips actually curl into a smile at that, but I had no idea why she was so pleased with that turn.

The interior of his home was very modern, almost like something out of a home décor magazine. There was a large flatscreen over the fireplace and a leather sofa that sat opposite it. Along the far wall, there were several books lined along the shelves. Instinct alone carried me toward them, bag slung across my chest. My tennis shoes squeaked ever so slightly against the wooden floors as I made my way over.

New York was watching me like a hawk and I could only imagine what this was like for him. For me, it was like a dream. I could remember the room, but it was so different from how it once was. The radio used to sit in the space near the window, but that area was now occupied by a very modern and sleek stereo system. The walls were no longer a pale green and there was no longer as much seating as there had been before. The books though…I reached a hand forward and ran my fingers along the spine of a single book.

"Walt Whitman," Johnny stated with a strange weight in his voice. "Figures you would grab that book first."

I glanced around to find that Alfred was observing the scene, Arthur and Jane having gone up the stairs to settle into their rooms. His expression was difficult to read. The way he had been behaving recently, it conflicted with my memories of him. I usually remembered him as exuberant and prideful. There had been little of that over the past few days.

My eyes skittered back to the book in my hands and John seemed to be anticipating a comment from me, waiting for me to say anything about the familiar scene I found myself in. However, I couldn't bring myself to say anything more than the question resting on my mind—one that I couldn't seem to draw out of the shambles of my memories. "Where—Where is my room?"

He visibly deflated and I saw Alfred lower his head in the doorway. He had been hopeful that this would recover some memories, but for the most part, it was a blank. John shifted, "You don't remember anything?"

"I remember some things. Flashes, like usual."

"See if you can find your room," Alfred challenged as he stepped forward. A large grin split his face and I watched to see if it would reach his eyes. It didn't. It was something I was noticing with increasing regularity. There was something deeper, darker in him—there seemed to be that same capacity for darkness in all of the personifications. "Follow your instincts, Shelly! See what happens!"

I wondered at the excitement there, gaze moving toward the stairs. My heart started to beat a little faster in a strange sort of performance panic. How could I find my room when I could barely remember this place? My fingers fell away from the spine of Walt Whitman's _Leaves of Grass. _I took a few uncertain steps toward the staircase, pausing momentarily when Alfred reached out to place a hand on my shoulder as I passed.

There was something heavy about the air as I moved up the stairs, like something had happened. Something terrible. I rested a hand on the plaster wall, feeling the powder of it laying a film on my palm. Behind me, I could hear Johnny questioning Alfred's sanity.

"She's got amnesia, America! If she remembers something—"

"I don't believe Britain, New York. Shelly's always been good at remembering things. She'll remember all this as well." There was a snort. "You just gotta have some faith."

I reached the crest of the stairs and paused, glancing on way and then another. There was a heavy tension in my chest as I stared at the room at the end of the hallway. There was a sudden phantom pain in my left cheek, as if I had been punched. My hand rose to rest there, eyes wide at the sensation. I gasped, stomach lurching painfully. Tears pricked my eyes unbidden and my head began to hurt. This was…This was…I took an unstable step forward, releasing my hold on my cane. It toppled noisily to the wooden floor. I was far too lost in memories and my senses to hear America and New York's worried voices.

There was a doorway that was on the left side of the hall. The door was closed to the room, but I could remember stumbling out from it. I could hear laughter, loud and cruel laughter. I continued to move forward, my breaths coming in rapid gasps. There was something in my hands. I squeezed my eyes shut as the pain in my jaw grew worse. I gritted my teeth together. There was a thump, a heavy thump against the floor. I could feel the vibrations of it.

A body.

"_What have you done, stupid woman?"_

My eyes flew open and I saw the blood, splattered against the walls. Sucking in a breath, I stared wide-eyed at the images in front of me. A man's body lay at my feet, curly brown hair matted with blood. It made a sick, fluttering feeling well up in my gut until I felt as if I couldn't breathe. A man stood over that body, white hair and red eyes. I took a step backward, leaning into the wall. My hand absently came up to cover my mouth. I didn't want to scream. It wasn't that man that frightened me. Not at the moment.

It was the blood.

Red.

I—I couldn't—

Someone placed their hand on my shoulder and I withdrew, terrified. They were going to take me away, lock me away. I would never see daylight again. Never see my family. I scrambled back, stumbling over the body in the hallway. The hands caught me again and I jerked myself away as violently as I could, shaking with fear. There was nothing I could do to escape. My wide-eyed gaze turned toward the door at the end of the hallway. I had to get there. I had to—I was so terrified that my knees were growing weak. I would lower myself a little and then spurt myself upward to get free, twisting my arms in different directions. The hands were too strong.

Then, suddenly, they were gone. I was free and I fell back into the wall. My head bumped against it and I lost all strength in my legs. I slid down onto the floor just as the images faded away. There was no body. No blood. No red eyes. Nothing but two very startled men staring from a few feet away.

A hand came to rest on my cheek—the sore one—and I flinched. I looked up to Arthur's stunned face. I only just caught the expression before it was hidden behind a mask of uncaring. He watched me carefully for a moment before pressing a cool hand to my forehead. I closed my eyes at the sensation of it. He was trying to calm me down and it was working. I could just breathe. I just needed to breathe.

"What was—" Alfred started to yell.

"I'll get a glass of water." I opened my eyes again to see Jane starting down the stairs. Her attention lingered on me for a moment before she focused on that task. John and Alfred appeared at a loss of what to do, so she just told them. "You both should go get ready for the meeting. America, you need to review the notes I put in your room."

America turned back to look at me, emotions conflicting over his face before he nodded. He stepped past Arthur and I, settling a hand on his fellow Nation's shoulder as he moved away. New York, however, did move from his position near the stairs. I turned to look at him, suddenly exhausted. My eyes felt heavy and I just allowed them to shut again as Arthur's switched his hands. The coolness was calming. I wondered why his fingers were so cold.

"She will be fine. She just needs to calm down." Arthur's voice was calm and medical. It made the situation seem very much under control, even if I felt like was anything but that. "If you will please get a shower started for her?" He was giving Johnny something to do, something so that he would feel less helpless. I opened my eyes again to see John nodding. He moved down the hall after Alfred and disappeared into a door on the right. A moment later, I heard the water running. "You saw your abduction, didn't you?"

"How is that possible?" I questioned weakly. "This was worse…than the other memories."

His shoulders shrugged, but I got the feeling that he knew the reasoning behind it. "It's neither here nor there at the moment. Are you feeling sick or dizzy?"

"Just tired," I replied. My voice shook ever so slightly, no matter how much I tried to control it. "There…was so much blood."

He pressed his lips together and I almost saw a flash of amusement there. "Yes, well, you did hit Spain over the head with a baseball bat."

"I—I did, what?"

Arthur chuckled and shook his head. Just then Jane came up the stairs, a glass of water in her hand. She lowered herself to kneel at my side and held out the glass with a twinge of worry in her expression. I took it from her without question and without a second thought for her seeming change in mood. By my perception, she wasn't as much of a hard-ass she portrayed. That much was evident in her actions. I murmured a 'thank you' and let it go.

"Just breathe. You'll get past this. You have been through much, much worse." There was so much truth in Arthur's words that it frightened me.

I didn't want to know how much 'worse' those memories could get.

I was too scared to know.

I was too scared. My hands began to quake anew, making the water slosh in the glass. Almost as if on instinct, Arthur reach forward and steadied the cup. His head shook unperceptively and I tried to steady myself. I couldn't let myself be ruled by that fear,

but that didn't mean that I was free from the apprehension in my heart.

* * *

The United Nations Annex was impressive. Huge crystal clear windows covered the entire front of the building. As we walked toward the front doors, my heels clacked against the concrete. I had adopted professional attire for the meeting, knowing that the nations of the world would be represented. My suit was crisp and unwrinkled, a white oxford underneath my black blazer. I had my hair styled with pin curls, something that had become a habit since my coma. I strode along behind Alfred and Arthur, trying to appear unshakable. Internally, I was struggling to calm my nerves. My cane clicked ever now and then until we reached the front doors.

The security guard allowed the first four in with little problem, but when I arrived without an identification card, the gentleman stopped me with a hand. "I'm sorry, but I cannot—"

"Archie, my man!" Alfred saddled up to him, throwing an easy arm around the guard's wide shoulders. "No worries, dude. She's with me." He reached a hand around the guard and grabbed my wrist, pulling me into the building. When the guard started to sputter, America just waved a hand. "I know, dude! I'm totally the hero! As you were."

I took a deep breath and gave the guard an apologetic look over my shoulder. He shrugged, obviously used to Alfred's antics. My eyes flickered around at the beautiful lobby, pristine white marble floors, crystal clear windows from ground to ceiling. The sun was setting outside, casting a dim orange glow over the entire entryway. Three stories were open to that lobby area, each accessible by a grand staircase at the very center. I hid my apprehension as best I could, raising my chin as we strode toward the stairs.

"Most Nations should be here by now," Johnny commented. He glanced around as if looking for someone. "I had Delaware here around—" We rounded the corner and a smile lit up his face. "George! Yo, George!"

A man down the long white-washed corridor turned and ran a hand over his face. He looked to be about a head shorter than Johnny and Alfred, his features taking more after Arthur. Perhaps it was from his existence as a State? Did States take on the appearances of their colonizers? The thoughts were absent ones as he strode toward us, stress clear in his expression. "It's about time you got here."

"We're an hour early," Arthur commented. "Which is a fair bit better than usual, I must say. America is usually late. And hours behind." There was a small joke there, but even he looked surprised at the dry humor. I felt the corners of my lips twitch up, but there was no full smile.

"Not that. There's just been a lot going on. I can't run everything myself. Jane, can you go talk to the security team? They're scattered and with Norway missing…" George trailed off. "Well, everyone is on edge." Jane gave him a single nod and she disappeared through a nearby set of doors. The tap of her heels faded with her overbearing presence. George's green eyes glanced to me, but he didn't ask the question that was so obviously on his mind. Instead, he pressed his lips together and waited.

I figured that this moment was as good as any other. I turned slightly to face Arthur, Alfred, and Johnny. My hands were clasped behind my back as I considered how to word my next statement. Honesty was the best policy after all. "I'm not going into the meeting."

There was a moment of silence before Alfred gawked. "What?"

"Yes," Arthur drawled. "What a shock."

"It's a meeting between Nations. Not even the States attend, am I right?" Johnny raised his eyebrow and I saw George's mouth open in shock at my knowledge. "I'll stay out in the lobby until you need me. I won't go anywhere else. It seems that George—" I glanced to him for permission to use his first name. He nodded, seeming a bit numb. "George needs John to help him run this meeting. The two of you need to focus on the issues at hand and Jane has all the information necessary to communicate to the gathered Nations. I'm of no use in there."

"Shelly, you're—"

I held up my hand and shook my head. Of all the decisions I had made in the past twenty-four hours, this was the one of which I was most confident. I had no place in that meeting. "Please, can you do something for me?" They looked curious. I wasn't the type to ask for favors, no matter what decade I was in. "Swear not to use the globe on them."

It was Alfred who reacted to that first. I expected nothing else. "What? Why not? Dude, they need to know! They need to know what happened!"

"No, they don't." I glanced around at all of them. "I may not remember much, but I can see something in your eyes. Something that's haunting you. Things weren't going well in that timeline. Germany was winning. Britain you were falling. Other Nations—Nations that didn't fall in this timeline, fell then. It wouldn't be fair to them. Think about it like that. Is it better to know how things could have gone?" I pursed my lips as Arthur seemed to think my statements over.

"You can't be serious, Michelle!" Alfred threw out his hands.

"I see your point. It would destabilize world relations." Arthur nodded. "Dredging up the issues of the past is not something that we should do, not with the current climate. It could spell disaster."

George, bless him, despite the fact that he knew nothing about what we were talking about, decided to put in his two cents. I decided in that moment that I respected him greatly for his level-headed thinking. For a single moment, I saw him a little differently. I saw him on the ground, struggling to breath. Shot. I shook my head and refocused. I couldn't lose composure here. I wouldn't lose composure here. I was stronger than that.

So much stronger.

"Miss—" He looked to me for my name.

"Michelle."

"Miss Michelle has a point. With the political landscape at this time, especially with Norway missing and with the threat of future abductions, anything that may destabilize the working relations of the Nations would be a detriment to this meeting." I nodded my head and gestured toward him, my motions saying 'listen to the man.'

After a few moments of silence, Alfred sighed and looked toward where Johnny was standing in silence. He was obviously looking for some sort of back up from the New Yorker. No support was to be found. John shook his head. "Gotta listen to Shelly on this one. She's got a point. It brings out the bloodlust, doesn't it? You feel it too. Even though it was eighty years ago, I still want to bash Ludwig's head in for everything that happened. The memories are too fresh and too personal."

And with that, I knew that I had won.

Alfred slouched, shoulders curling forward. He heaved a sigh and lifted his hand to his neck. "Never could win." He glanced to me and pushed his glasses up with his other hand. "Alright, fine. For now, the globe stays a secret between us. An American secret." Arthur cleared his throat. "Oh, and you too. We'll keep this between us for now." He stepped forward and pointed toward the lobby. "You stay right there. Don't move until we come back out. The meeting could take hours. Don't move. Got it?"

My eyes rolled and I smiled. "I'll be fine. There's nothing to worry about. Anyway, you need to go to that meeting. Catch me up on everything when it's over, okay?"

Alfred nodded, seeming to slip on a mask. A wide grin broke on his face and he pumped his fist. "Yo! It's time to get this show on the road! C'mon Britain! Let's get shit done!" Arthur grimaced as he was put into a dramatic headlock and dragged down the hallway and out of sight. It seemed like such an odd exit, but I chalked it up to Alfred's insecurity with the whole situation.

I gave the two remaining men a close-lipped smile, which they both returned. George let out a small sigh. "We've got work to do. The meeting starts soon. We need to make sure the staff is ready to go." He gave me a polite nod. "It was nice to meet you, Michelle."

"Same to you. Good luck."

That left John and I alone in the U.N. Annex. I looked to him, really looked, and saw the uneasy light in his green eyes. He suspected something, was uncertain about how this meeting would go. He was watching me too, looking for any signs of that panic attack I had earlier in the day. It had scared him, I think. It was the very thing that he feared, that I would have violent memories of the past. Since the afternoon, he never seemed able to look me in the eye. He reached forward and pulled me into a hug before I could do anything otherwise.

"It's gonna be okay," he said. "I'm sorry…that you remembered _that_." He pulled away and rested his hands on my shoulders. He looked conflicted about leaving me behind. "There's a break room around the corner. Just past the globe sculpture, second door on the right. Stay in there. I'll come get you when everything is over. There's coffee and snacks." He reached into his pocket to withdraw his wallet. He handed me his ID card. I took it. "Just in case you need it. You shouldn't. By now, the staff will know who you are." I nodded my head, knowing that this wasn't about coffee and food. He felt that room was more secure and I would be safe within it.

"Thank you, Johnny." He nodded, turned on his heel, and ran off after George. And I was left to my own devices.

* * *

The meeting had been in session for two hours and there had been no word of any progress. I was moving onto my second cup of tea. The coffee was too strong. I couldn't stomach it. Speaking of my stomach, it was twisting into painful knots over and over and over and over. I could barely muscle down a Kit-Kat bar from the vending machine about six o'clock. My mind filtered over man different things as I listened to the music from my Walkman. It moved from thoughts of my mother and brother to thoughts of Alfred and Johnny and Arthur. Thomas and Jane. To the Nations whom I knew, but couldn't remember. I flew over the details of the robbery and the abduction.

Three males, each dressed in black.

From there, I fell into the memories I had recovered in the afternoon—something I had been avoiding since it happened.

The most haunting thing was the blood splattered against the wall. That blood was my fault. I felt somewhere in me that there was blood all over me, coating my skin, my hands. I felt sick at the very thought of it.

I had been so scared.

Those men had been after me. For what I knew. For the information I possessed.

They'd abduct me for it.

They'd…torture me for it.

My heart leapt uncomfortably in my chest. The red was choking me, blotting out all other colors. How could I have hurt someone like that? Arthur said I hit a man with a baseball bat. I could have killed that man. I felt it somewhere within me, somewhere dark, that I had the capacity for it. I could have killed him, if I were desperate enough. In those memories, all I felt was desperation and fear. What was I driven to do in that madness?

I must have been caught, I realized.

As much as they wanted me to regain my memories, an equal part of them was steering me away from those answers—the answers that they believed I would find disturbing.

I must have been captured.

Sucking in a breath, I tried to fight my way through that blind panic that threatened to consume me. It was decades ago. I could overcome it. Straightening my spine, I closed my journal and set it into my bag, curling my earphones around the Walkman as I shut it off. I needed a breath of fresh air. I needed to get out of that small room. I felt too small, far too small.

Stepping out into the hallway, everything seemed quiet. All of the staff was servicing the Nations at their meeting. I quickly made my way toward a side entrance nearby—my mind focused on the feel of fresh air against my skin. The air inside felt stale, humid. As I rounded the corner, I collided with another person and crashed back onto the marble floor. My cane clattered away, out of reach. Immediately, I began to apologize. "I'm—I'm so sorry! I wasn't paying attention."

"Well, duh! You were not paying attention!"

My gaze lifted up from a pair of neatly shined shoes, up to a pair of black slacks and a white-buttoned shirt, to a pair of red eyes.

Red eyes.

_Red eyes. _

Images flooded my mind. George—the man I had just met— was on the ground. A chilling _crack_ broke through the silence. Out of fear, I looked over to the two men who stood down the street. New York's street. _This couldn't be happening. Not to me. _The man with red eyes held a smoking gun.

Fear lurched through my chest as I fell to my knees on the ground beside George. My hands fluttered around his wound. Blood was gushing past my fingers as I pressed into his abdomen. I couldn't think. I could barely draw a breath—in the memory and in real life—scared that if I did...Scared that if one thing went wrong... Tears welled up in my eyes as I leaned over him. His eyes were wide, staring up at the night sky.

This was my fault.

My fault.

_My fault_.

Red eyes.

Breathe, Michelle. Breathe.

I felt my breathing stop. I felt everything stop.

I stared up at him—the man with red eyes.

When he took a step toward me, my fear no longer paralyzed me. I scrambled up from the floor, ignoring my cane as I ran past it. He called out to me, but I was in such a blind panic that I didn't acknowledge it. I just followed my fight or flight instincts and that instinct told me to run. To run as fast as I could and to not look back. My limp was more pronounced when I was running and it made my gait slower than I would have liked. There was more yelling from his direction and I thought I heard footfalls behind me. I just had to escape.

I had to escape.

I needed to escape. I needed to get away.

_Run. _

A door opened in front of me and I swerved myself out of the way just in time. Repeating the same incident as moments before, I slammed into another person. This time, we both toppled to the marble floor with a painful lurch. I let out a cry of pain as my arm struck the floor. My heart continued to race in my chest, even as I started to gather myself up again. Tears were blurring my vision. When I attempted to gain my footing, I realized that the heel of my shoe had broken and I immediately kicked both shoes off and stumbled up from the tangled mess of limbs.

Get away.

Escape.

I looked in the direction from which I came to see the man with red eyes approaching. He was running fast. I glanced toward the man on the floor, making sure he was alright. Our eyes connected for a single, fleeting moment. His calm green eyes against my frantic brown. And, before I could think, before he could say a word, I started to run again. I could barely breathe. I couldn't think. I just ran.

I had to escape.

I had to get away.

Blood. On the wall.

On my hands.

Red eyes.

Red.

* * *

**Author's Section**

I worked very hard to get this out. It's been a very difficult week (personally and professionally), but I get such joy from writing this that it was therapeutic to get this down on paper. The sequence of the next three chapters is already highly planned out and/or written. And this is where the story kicks up into high gear. I was very invested in this chapter and, though I felt a bit like I was wasting time with the stuff at the beginning, I felt it was necessary. As for the memories, well…those just happened. It wasn't what I had planned exactly, but I like what it does. I feel like Michelle is struggling through it all as best she can and everyone else is as well. Part of the reason for the Nations being a bit out of sorts is because of the memories they regained. America might have seemed a bit more subdued. It's because of the memories he received from the globe. He knows how things could have ended and his last memory is something extremely unpleasant. That's why he's out of sorts.

Lots of spelling errors and missed letters. Will be fully edited by Wednesday. Sorry. Real life in the way.

New songs have been added to the playlist.

Please also try to make a swing by "Ten Things," if you haven't already!

**HUGE THANK YOU to all of my readers, reviewers, followers, and favorites out there. Your feedback is invaluable and very much appreciated! I sincerely appreciate the support you guys give me!**

**I hope you will review and leave me some feedback. **

**Thank you for reading! Have a great weekend!**


	10. Chapter Eight

**A Matter of Course**

**By: Dr. Cultural Studies**

**Chapter Eight: Panic**

* * *

"_Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one." –_ Albert Einstein

* * *

My hands were shaking, quivering as I continued to stare at the closed door. I had taken refuge in a broom closet near the front entrance of the United Nations Annex. It was one of those moments where the world seemed to grind to a screeching halt. I could barely gain my breath, both from my panic and my physical state. My leg was hurting tremendously, not used to such exertion. Everything felt clammy, my skin covered with a film of sweat. Still, I didn't move and I didn't speak. I just stared at that door with half-lidded eyes. In my mind, I could see images still—like a film strip that was coming off the track.

Most of the images were that of just normal life—my family, Johnny and me, some memories of Alfred every now and then. Some of images though…They were violent, painted in a red hue. I thought for sure that those images were coated in blood. Maybe that was my own mind painting the pictures over. I didn't know. Everything was so crazy, so insane.

It was then that my chest began to ache. The feeling of tightness made my body shake even more. It was merely a stitch, but it had me anxious. What if I had a heart attack in this closet? What if I never saw my family again? What if—What if—What if—I was having a panic attack, far worse than any I had in the past. There seemed to be no stopping it. My logical mind was locked away behind bars of anxiety.

"Michelle!"

I heard the voice, but I didn't respond to it. I didn't want to respond. I couldn't respond. After all, he was hardly a friend. _My fault. _He saw me as nothing more than a nuisance, as the person who condemned his people to suffering. My eyes squeezed shut and my palms pressed into them. Light exploded behind my lids. _What did I do? _He held no trust for me, no affection. Just hate. I pushed myself backward, squashing myself into the corner between the metal cabinet and the wall. Still shaking, still frightened. I could smell Clorox.

"Michelle! Bloody hell! Open the door. Everything is alright now!"

Everything was not _alright_.

I could see images of a blond man—Arthur—shouting with such disgust in his expression that I could barely believe that the glare was focused on me. All this time, I thought him a friend. I treated him as a friend, as someone that I could trust. He was no friend of mine, was he? How could he be after what I—My breathing hitched. After what I did. Then, I felt an overwhelming surge of affection for him. Not any sort of romantic connection, no. This ran deeper than that. I felt like I understood, but I knew I could never understand. What was happening in my mind? Why wouldn't this whirlwind stop? I felt the shaking begin anew and I tried to bite back the sobs. I couldn't trust him. I couldn't trust anyone.

"She won't come out," Britain's voice explained to someone. He sounded exasperated. Some logical part of me (hidden somewhere behind the mess of my nonsensical panic) couldn't help but to agree with him. I felt exasperated and tired of myself. Still, I couldn't seem to stop. I couldn't stop panicking. I couldn't stop shaking. I couldn't bring myself to take control.

I was spiraling.

"Just what is her problem, huh? She a crazy or something?" A German accented voice questioned loudly from the other side of the door. "Hey! Come out! The Awesome Prussia will not hurt you! Come out!" There was a bang against the door and I jumped, pulling myself into an even tighter ball in the corner. I removed a hand from my eyes and pressed it over my mouth to keep myself from screaming. Why? Why couldn't I get control? What—

_This was a military man standing before me—a long-standing empire that was suffering through torturous conditions. He was watching as his brother was forced to murder his own citizens and the citizens of his friends. I couldn't think of anything more terrifying for an older sibling than to watch your younger brother or sister being forced into something that they didn't want to do or to watch them go through any hardships at all. He was trying to protect Germany at this moment. I could see __that__ clear as day._

Bang!

_I would kill to protect Corey and Donna._

Corey…Donna… Momma…

_"You want to end it here? End it here." My voice was calm, accepting._

Accepting fate. Accepting death.

_His hand tightened and he leaned forward in an effort to intimidate me. Inside, it was working. I was terrified that he might actually go through with it. He was desperate enough, that much was clear in the way he held himself. His own front—the Russian front—wasn't going as well as he had thought it would. It was his problems with that battle that made my knowledge so essential. To him, I represented his failures. When my vision began to blur a bit, then my horror truly skyrocketed and my hand rose to scratch at his fingers._

Bang!

_Worse._

Worse?

_I've had endured worse._

_Far worse than this._

_I had to stay strong._

_Darkness._

_No fear._

_Spots danced into the moonlight. This wasn't going as I had planned. Murder had never entered my field of vision. I always expected that my knowledge would keep me alive in this world. I always thought it made me__ valuable__ to all the Nations. There was so much to lose, I always thought that my value was placed upon that._

_The only thing was: Prussia had nothing left to lose._

Prussia.

_My attempts to breath were hungry gasps and I felt myself starting to slip into unconsciousness._

_No! No!_

Bang!

_I can't._

_I can't!_

_This wasn't the way it was meant to go. I didn't want to die. Not like this. Not by the hands of Prussia. Not without doing something right. Not without seeing my family again. I didn't want to die. My nails stopped ripping through Gilbert's skin as the world darkened. There was no fighting it._

Bang!

_Everything had gone wrong._

_This was…_

_"Stop," a calm voice interrupted the ringing in my ears._

"Stop," that same calm voice broke through the memory. It was coming from outside the door, so quiet that I could barely hear it. My wide eyes turned toward the doorway, waiting to hear something else from that person, whoever it was. I couldn't remember. I could just feel the feelings I had felt back then. Surprise, respect, thankfulness, security. My quivering hand fell from my mouth as he spoke again. "She is afraid. Hitting the door like that will only cause her more fear." The knocking ceased and I relaxed a little.

"_She_ hit _me_! Why is she hiding? I did nothing! The Awesome Prussia would never hit a woman on purpose!" No, but he would strangle one if he were desperate enough. I remained very still where I sat, feeling the anxiety start to ebb away bit by bit. I couldn't say why I felt more secure, but my panic attack was starting to end and I felt nausea pool in my stomach. All of those memories…I couldn't string them all together. They made little sense.

"What's going on here?"

"Your crazy citizen, that's what!"

America.

Then, all of the remaining fear fluttered away as if on a breeze. I could breathe again and I could feel my hands stop shaking. Feeling was starting to return to my limbs as I was able to calm myself down. It was almost as if a switch had been flicked off. My hands lowered to my sides and I felt so tired, so exhausted. I continued to stare at the door. For some odd reason, I knew that it was about to be—

The sound of the door being kicked in wasn't nearly as frightening as the knocking had been just moments before. Actually, it was oddly comforting. I knew that in just a few seconds, I would be safe. And, sure enough, Alfred appeared in the doorway with his wide blue eyes searching the space. I started to lift myself up off the floor, though my limbs felt almost too weak to support my weight.

As soon as he saw me, Alfred jumped over the remains of the door and had me in his arms. I let out a dry sob and pressed myself into his chest. I felt so protected, so secure, so different from how I felt when the panic attack had gained its hold over me. He didn't make any motions to scoop me up nor any attempts to smooth circles over my back. He just held me for a few moments, shifting so that he could see the doorway and so that my back was to it.

It was a clever move on his part. He clearly didn't want me to see anything that could trigger another episode.

"You guys get back to the meeting. I've got this."

"Who is she?" the German-accented voice questioned. _Prussia_, I realized. "She ran into me and then went bat shit! I get no explanation, huh?"

"No, you don't." Alfred answered as if it were obvious. "Dude, I can try to explain everything later, but it's super complicated."

"Are you calling me stupid?"

"Honestly…" Arthur's voice drawled. I shifted my stance, uncertain what to make of my newly remembered feelings toward the man. I felt regret building behind my heart, regret and irritation. I could hear his voice growing more distant as if seemed he was walking away from the scene. "Just let America handle it. We have bigger issues at present. "Come along then, Prussia, before Germany wonders where you've gotten to. Everything will be sorted—" His voice faded out and I felt as if the tension had faded from Alfred's arms.

I was able to push myself back and I glanced up to his face. He looked haunted and concerned, eyes flickering to every portion of my face. Then, as if sensing something amiss, he glanced away from me and toward the doorway. I turned as well.

Standing there with his arms at his sides was a dark-skinned man with dull green eyes. His face held no expression, no upward curve of his lips and no wrinkles to denote any disposition. He was watching America and me as if we were some uninteresting television show. Something swirled at the back of my mind and I recognized him as the man I had knocked down in the hallway. There was no white keffiyeh on his head, but I could almost imagine one over his short brown hair. He shifted, seemed to consider something, before he spoke. His voice was composed, but I felt as if I could hear some underlying tension. "You… do not remember, do you?"

My breath caught.

It was the same voice—the same calm voice that I remembered from Prussia's attack, the one who had stopped him from killing me. There was no other recognition there and I could see the slightest shift in his expression. The corners of his lips ticked downward for a split-second. He could remember me, I realized. Although I couldn't remember anything of him, he could remember me. It was impossible.

"What? You remember?" Alfred practically shouted. I flinched at the volume of it and he shot me an apologetic look. "For real? You remember her?"

"Somewhat," the man nodded. "She does not remember?"

"No, she doesn't." Alfred answered more fully. I glanced up at him as he wound an arm under my shoulders to make sure that I was secure. My legs were still shaking a bit and I felt unsteady. He must have sensed that on some unconscious level because he never once glanced at me. His expression was filled with confusion as he looked toward the doorway. "How—How do _you_ remember? You haven't touched the—" He cut himself off. "You wanna break it down for me, Muhammad?"

The man's—Muhammad's—shoulders rose and fell in a small shrug.

Once we were out in the broad hallway, I felt even more of the tension fade away. My legs started to regain their strength and the tingling sensation subsided completely. I was back in control. And I felt that control settling into my body once more. It was freeing. I shrugged off Alfred's arm and stood on my own, bare feet against the cool marble flooring. It felt odd, strange. Who would have ever thought that I would end up barefoot in the United Nations annex with a personified nation?

My head shook as if to clear it and I glanced toward the other man. His eyes locked with mine and I felt familiarity with him. I knew him. How did I know him? "Who are you?" I decided to just outright ask.

His lips pressed together and he started to answer, "Eg—"

"And _how the hell_ do you know about her? You supposed to _not_ remember!" Alfred interrupted. His hands flailed at his sides. "Why didn't you mention anything in the meeting, huh? You didn't think to look for her? What in the world is going on?"

Muhammad took it all in stride, not seeming to lose his patience with America's never-ending parade of questions. "I am aware of a great many things, America. I can see other worlds and other timelines. Even if my memories were reduced to nothing in this timeline, I can still see how things were in the alternate timeline." He was running circles around Alfred, I could tell. The blond only seemed to grow more confused. There was a small sigh. "I remember, but I do not remember. Is that sufficient?" Muhammad turned to me and nodded. "I am Egypt."

Egypt.

My head nodded in return. Egypt. I could see it in the way he held himself. There was something oddly majestic in his demeanor, ancient and old. "Nice to meet you." I turned slightly to see Alfred observing our interactions as if he were waiting for something more exciting to happen. When he noticed that I was watching him, Alfred cleared his throat and made a wild gesture to the left.

"The meeting's still going. Haven't really reached a verdict yet. Probably will pretty soon. Until then though, I think it might be best if I take you to hang with New York and Delaware. Besides, Johnny's gonna flip his shit when he hears about what happened." His eyes glanced down to my bare feet. "I'll see if I can find you some shoes while I'm at it." He nodded toward Egypt and motioned toward the double doors. "Go on back in, dude. I'll make sure she's settled and then I'll join back up with the group."

Egypt bowed his head slightly and glanced over to me one final time, as if making certain that I was alright. Finally, he turned on his heel and walked away. My muscles twitched as I watched him disappear through the double doors. I wanted to stop him, but I couldn't quite say why.

Strange.

All of this was so strange.

"You…You two were very close," America said in a low tone. "Like, super close." He turned to me and jerked his head to the right. "C'mon. We'll take the elevator up to where the States are observing the meeting. You can stay with them until everything is over. Then, I really need you to explain what happened a few minutes ago, alright?"

"You don't want to know right now?"

It seemed odd. Alfred always seemed to be one for instant answers rather than waiting.

His head shook. "It's fresh. Take a few to think about it. And then we'll work through what just happened." With that, he turned with military precision and started toward the set of elevators at the end of the hall. "I'm just glad you're alright. It could have been much worse." The last bit seemed to be to himself and it made me wonder just how bad my memories could get. I was terrified enough by what I just remembered. What more could there be?

* * *

Round and round and round they went. There seemed to be no end in sight. America would rant and then Britain would make some snide comment, which would lead to France interrupting the ongoing argument with an insult or two. On the sidelines, China would be throwing in ignored barbs while a large man—Russia—watched with an amused expression. All of these things would erupt every thirty minutes or so. It seemed as if they had made very little headway in the several hours they had been discussing. Frankly, I was growing tired of it.

I was already on the edge. I didn't feel well after my panic attack, which I had wisely kept New York uninformed of. I still felt the fringes of my mind fraying under the weight of my newly regained memories. I had more and more questions piling up as I tried to piece the puzzle together. I was growing more and more frustrated.

I shifted, glancing down at the shouted proceedings. America had some wild plan that included ninja assassins and a leaf blower (which made absolutely no sense). I had a hard time buying that he was proposing it as a real viable plan until I glanced toward where Delaware and New York were shaking their heads.

"Is he serious?"

They looked to me. Both appeared a bit stunned at my question. Johnny just shook his head while George shook his head. In all seriousness, he replied, "America knows that a majority of the Nations aren't paying attention. He's just throwing out these crazy plans to see who is." He actually snorted and smiled. "Truth is, the plan was decided hours ago. Now, they're arguing just to argue."

My mouth opened just slightly and a wave of irritation flooded through my chest. "What?"

John turned to me and held up both hands. Obviously, he had heard my tone and thought best to intervene. "Uh, Shelly. It's just kinda how things go. They need to get this out of their systems before they can work together. It's the way it always works. Just give them time and then everything will work out." I narrowed my eyes at him and he grimaced. "Trust me, Michelle. They've already decided. Give them a few more—"

"SHUT UP NOW!"

Johnny smirked and gave a gesture toward the auditorium at large. "You see? The meeting will be over within fifteen minutes."

I glanced down to see a blond man standing with his back to me. His entire body seemed to radiate control and all of the bickering Nations quieted under the authority of his order. Broad shoulders and a straight back. "All of you are acting like idiots! We have a global emergency on our hands and you are acting like children. Get your acts together and stop acting like fools!" Surprisingly, I saw America sink down into his chair. I almost thought I could see a grimace in his expression.

Next to me, John shifted and I glanced down to see his hand balled into a fist. "It's strange seeing him like this," Johnny murmured next to me. I looked around to see a confliction of joy and pain in his expression. "I see him a lot differently right now. It's not really fair to him. After all, it wasn't his choice."

"Who?"

New York gestured toward the blond man. "Germany."

A thrill of something rushed through me at that name and the realization that the one who bore it was in the same room. I looked down to the meeting and watched the proceedings with renewed interest, my fingernails boring into the wood of the chair's arms. "That's…Germany?"

"That's him," New York confirmed. He glanced to me. "Are you remembering anything?"

My head shook. "No, nothing." John seemed to sigh in relief.

"We know that Norway was taken around three in the morning. We have film that shows the three abductors. His house was ransacked as if the three attackers were searching for something. We know that those abductors recently robbed an American World War II history museum and that the robbery resulted in the death of a human citizen. What else do we know?" He seemed to be waiting for someone to speak up, but silence instead rang out over the gathered Nations. "No one has anything to add?" I noticed America shifting in his seat. "Denmark, you were with Norway last."

A man stood on the other side of the round table, blond hair spiking out in every different direction. He shifted, placing his hands on the table as he leaned forward. "I've already explained what happened. We were drinking some freakin' great beer. He got a call on his cell and took off. He didn't seem weird—er, weirder than usual. There was nothing suspicious."

"The call sound suspicious. Do you know who call him?" China questioned with his brows lifted. "Was it personal call or professional call?"

Denmark growled a little. "If I knew, don't you think I would tell you? I'm just as in the dark as the rest of you!"

"The Norwegian government has placed itself on high alert." Someone—Sweden—commented. Voice erupted around the room, discussing the possibilities of war over the missing Nation. Germany began yelling again, urging the gathered people to calm down and focus. It wasn't working.

My attention shifted a bit from the discussion below. Instead, my eyes trailed up to the symbol on the wall. It was the world as viewed from the North Pole, gilded in gold against the wood slats beneath it. Olive branches wrapped around either side of the globe—symbolizing the peace which the United Nations had always strived for. Anxiety welled within me. With Norway missing and these enemies still at large, it seemed that the tension was mostly stemming from insecurity and a lack of information. Soon, all nations would be on alert.

They needed information and….

I was logical enough to see all the ways this could go wrong. It was likely that those three men were after the globe itself and yet the Nations of the world did not know that such a thing even existed. They were in the dark and dealing with only a partiality of the actual situation. Denmark, who seemed terribly disturbed by Norway's abduction, had little information to add. The investigation would grind to a stand-still and then nothing would be done.

My legs pushed me into a standing position before my thoughts were fully formulated. I leaned forward and gripped my hands on the railing. New York stood beside me, asking what I was doing.

What was I doing?

"The past is the past, right?"

He jerked, "Huh?"

"They need to know about the globe. It's the common denominator. They're blind without it."

"Shelly, it's not that simple."

"It is," I confirmed. "Norway is in danger. This situation is far worse than the memories of the past." I turned to see his conflicted expression. "It's the only logical choice. You had to have known that this would not work without telling them about the globe. In a perfect world, we could have kept it a secret. I didn't think my request through. They need to know."

America was looking up at me, as were a couple others around him. My sudden movement had garnered some attention. My heart fluttered in my chest at the looks I was receiving. I glanced around the round table, seeing Arthur's slack-jawed stare and Egypt's expressionless face. Reaffirming my hold on the railing, I turned my attention to Alfred once more and my head nodded in confirmation. There was no choice. It was time to reveal every facet of what had happened.

It was time to reveal the globe to the world.

"Hey, it's the crazy lady!"

The shout gained the attention of the whole room and the voices faded into silence. I forced myself to stop quaking. As calmly as I could, I glanced to the far side of the meeting room. Prussia stood with his arms outstretched, pointing in my direction. Swallowing dryly, I spoke up. "S-Sorry for that episode earlier. You might understand why soon." Before he could speak again, I focused on America. "Do it. I don't see any other choice."

"We can handle it ourselves," Alfred responded quickly. "It's our prob—"

"No," Britain interrupted. "It ceased being our problem when Norway was taken." He nodded in my direction, seeming to accept my conclusion. "Michelle is right. In a perfect world we would keep those memories to ourselves. Now, I do not see a way around it. Norway's disappearance, the enemies, and the globe are all so interconnected that it would be downright foolish to keep the globe a secret any longer."

"What globe?" Russia questioned from where he was rising from his seat.

_"Why you ask me?"_

_My answer was simple enough: "I trust you."_

America grimaced, shooting a glare up toward the balcony where I stood. I knew why he was so uncomfortable with this decision. He was closer to memories of World War II than most everyone else. The tension of the war were still fresh in his mind due to his regained memories. Just like New York and Britain. He could clearly remember the disasters of the war. How would these other countries respond to that kind of knowledge—of how things could have ended—of how they had suffered in an alternate timeline? An alternate history of what had been but was no longer? Wasn't it better to live in ignorance of all that?

He sighed, rubbing at his forehead. "Yeah, fine. So…look, this is a long story. You all might wanna sit down for it 'cause it really makes no flippin' sense." America glanced toward where Denmark was sitting and his brows rose. "You bring any liquor, man? We're gonna need a lot of it. What you're all about to hear is some of the craziest shit I've ever encountered."

"You're friends with an alien," France supplied with a nervous edge to his voice. "Stranger than that?"

"Stranger, frog." Britain growled. "Now shut up and let him speak."

I sank back down into my seat and listened as the story was retold for all the Nations of the world to hear. Most of it sounded like the stuff of movies. It sounded absolutely crazy. Other parts felt so real that my chest hurt. They did not recount my exact motions or my presence or my torture, but it seemed they intended to let the other Nations piece that together for themselves. I just continued to watch and listen, staying out of the discussion as much as I could.

Soon enough, the time for my silence would end.

I was merely preparing myself for that time.

Until then, I just listened as they explained my tale and the globe's position in it. My hands grew sweaty as I wiped them on my skirt.

As the shortened tale drew to a close, every single eye in the meeting space turned up to me and I stared back at them, unblinking. They didn't believe the story was true, I could tell by their expressions. I noticed America withdrawing something from his coat pocket and I gestured toward it with my head.

A grimace pulled at his lips as he hocked the globe back. "Yo, Russia. Think fast, dude!"

The globe sailed through the air toward the large Nation. As soon as his fingers wrapped around it, his eyes went wide with realization. In shock, I saw him release the relic and, acting quicker than I could have ever expected, China dove to the side to catch it. I felt nervous energy flooding the space. Some for fear that the globe would shatter with America's insane idea to throw it at the other Nation, some in fear of the expression that had clouded Russia's rounded face. China sat the globe on the table and looked toward where Britain was sitting smugly in his chair.

"I thought you were lying."

"No," Britain retorted. "I was not."

China let out a huff, looking across the room to where the large blond Nation was standing. He narrowed his eyes and took hold of the globe again. "I believe this is something that we all should be aware of, don't you agree? If we must be aware, then he must as well." He shifted and started around the space, arriving to stand in front of Germany. I still couldn't see the man's face, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. "Touch the globe, Ludwig. I am not certain you will like what you will see…"

"He won't," Russia commented. There was a pleasant lilt to it, but the disturbing way his lips curled upward had me thinking that he was quite enjoying the way this was going. The chaos that was about to unfold seemed to have him _excited_. A chill rolled down my spine. "No one will like the memories. It is the past, da? No one likes it."

He had a point.

Several members of the assembly held their breaths as the German Nation reached out to take hold of the globe. His stance shifted a little bit, as if prepared for an attack of some sort. As soon as his fingers wrapped around the lapis and mother of pearl, all hell broke loose. The entire room seemed to explode with noise and I heard a couple screams erupt from below. I felt myself falling forward before I could even register what was happening. Weightlessness filled my gut. A single moment of: _this couldn't be happening _and I tumbled off the balcony and into the fray below.

* * *

**Author's Section**

I worked hard to get this out this week. I have been terribly busy and unable to work on this fan fiction as I have been able before. My schedule has me working on one day in particular for about thirteen hours straight. I am wearing myself out. And it is only the third week of school. I wanted to get this chapter out to be able to make the following announcement:

In an effort to maintain quality, _I am putting this story on hiatus for the rest of September_. I will return in October. I _really_ wish that I could continue posting every week or every other week, but real life will not allow it. I'll be uploading a chapter for "Points of Divergence" within the next day or so. After that, the month-long hiatus will begin. NOTE: I am NOT abandoning this story. I never leave stories unfinished.

If you're looking for old work of mine to read in the meantime, my old name on this site is OurLoveIsForever. I took several years off from writing fan fiction, so please be kind to the old me. Hopefully this will provide some entertainment while I am on hiatus.

Please also check out the stories on my favorites list. All of them are fantastic and written by fabulous authors!

I'm sorry that I can't keep up. I hope all of you will stick with me throughout and wait for the next chapter. If you don't, I appreciate your support thus far. Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites, follows, and just all around greatness. I will respond to reviews on this chapter sometime in the following week.

As for the chapter, I hope everyone enjoyed! It was difficult to write her panic attack and even more difficult to write the meeting. For those of you that guessed Egypt, you were right. I was sick at the thought of her not remembering him. It's chilling for me because, in my mind, they are closer than anyone else in the story.

Please leave me some reviews/feedback!

Thank you!

All the best to everyone and I will see you in October!


	11. Chapter Nine

**A Matter of Course**

**By: Dr. Cultural Studies **

**Chapter Nine: Fire**

* * *

_Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean._ – Maya Angelou

* * *

The room was in absolute, utter chaos. Screams were echoing, tearing through the air like banshees. There was a roar, a gurgling sort of hiss that sounded like the raging of a fire. Boom. Even as I started to fall, my instincts took hold. As I cascaded over the ledge, I reached out my hand and grasped at the gold-plated rail that was mounted atop the short wall. It broke from the balcony and sent me tumbling downward until I caught my hand on a crossbeam of the gold-plated rail. Pain echoed through my arms as my body swung violently downward, slamming me into the wall. Something hot pressed up from the ground floor, a flurry of smoke and embers dancing up from the meeting space. My sweaty fingers were slipping from the grip as I looked around for any savior, anyone who could rescue me from my precarious position. A scream erupted from my throat as I attempted to pull myself up. I reached out another hand and grappled with the vertical support.

There was no way I could support my own weight.

There was no one to save me.

I could see no Nations below, no one to catch me—just the burning wreckage of the old meeting table. I looked around for Johnny, as if he would appear from the smoke to pull me out and take me away. He was nowhere. It was just me, just me. Just me and the chaos.

I let out another yet as some hot piece of wood began to scream.

If I could just—I angled my forearm through the railing to hook my elbow around it. My arms were quaking with the weight of my body. The entire balcony was tilted, almost as if the explosion had torn it from the main wall. It was tilted at such an angle that I doubted I could get anywhere if I were able to climb back onto the landing. And where it was once positioned a good twenty feet from the floor, it was now about sixteen feet or so.

Breathing heavily, I glanced down. Bits of burning wood and smoke. That was it. No people. No one. No Nations. It was about eleven foot drop. I would surely break something if I allowed myself to fall. Still, there seemed to be little other choice. My eyes squeezed shut and I murmured a quick prayer. Just a quick prayer for survival. Unhooking my arm from the railing, I allowed myself to hang for a few moments by my quickly exhausting fingers. I kept expecting John to reappear and save me, but he didn't and I was left to let go. Fingertips slipping, my heart thundered my chest. I kept my eyes shut and released.

I dropped like a ton of brinks and I could feel that weightless sensation in my stomach. My mind quickly thought of several things: my family, the Nations. I felt my right leg strike the ground first; a terrible crunching sound seemed to echo over the cacophony. The popping of burning wood screamed, like me. I collapsed onto the ground in a heap and screeched, rolling onto my back as I cradled my broken leg. It was a pain unlike any I had felt before. It was consuming, pushing my heart into my throat.

_What happened?_

"Johnny!" My voice was rough from the smoke. "John-Johnny!"

No one came, no savior from the smoke. Through my tears, I glanced around the room. The walls were blackened with smoke and soot, marring the once pristine beauty that was the United Nation meeting room. The tables were overturned, the lights were flickering overhead. It was like a nightmare. A nightmare that I couldn't escape. The pain in my leg was unlike anything I had ever felt before. I had never broken a bone in my life and I didn't know how to react to the pain. It was so acute that it was making me nauseous. Or maybe that was the smoke. It was likely the smoke.

I had to get out. I had to get my bearings, keep my head, and get out.

In the back of my mind, words like terrorist attack and bombing resounded. It was a chilling notion, but one that I couldn't think about. I had to escape. I had to escape alive. Regardless of whatever the explosion was, I had to act on my instincts and escape alive.

Taking a quivering breath, I pulled myself across the splinter-filled floor to where a metal-coated column stood. Keeping my right leg as straight as I could, I pushed myself up and up until I was standing with my weight entirely on my left leg. From this position, I could see a little more of the room. The far section of the balcony had collapsed and the door to the meeting room seemed to be blasted open. From there, the balcony had pealed itself from the wall.

"Johnny!" I yelled with a smoke-cracked voice. "Alfred! Alfred!"

No answer.

It was as if they had disappeared. I glanced around, looking for any viable escape route. My logical mind was slowly starting to take over, knowing that if I lost myself to my fear and turbulent emotions I would likely lose my life. Somehow, it came as instinct to me. As if I had deal with this before, or something frighteningly similar. I stopped calling for help. It was clear that none was going to come to my aid. It was only after I stopped calling that a voice emerged from the smoke.

"They're dead."

I stiffened, turning on my good leg to peer into the deluge of dark matter. There was a figure there and my heart seemed to quiver in my chest. As he stepped closer, his appearance became clearer. His uniform was unwrinkled, unblemished by the explosion. Not a single blond hair was out of place, slicked back out of his narrowed, dangerous blue eyes. I felt my breath catch, the smoke seeming to wrap a gnarled hand around my throat. The smoke was choking me. I could barely breathe.

"Due to your negligence, your friends are dead." Germany told me, as he folded his hands behind his back. His chin tilted upward. The smoke seemed to wrap around him like a snake. It cleared only enough for me to see the cold gleam in his eyes. He took a step forward and I tried to shuffle back. Forgetting for a moment that my leg was broken. I let out a scream as the pain sent me falling to the floor. He made no move to help. He just took several slow steps forward until he stood over me like a towering monolith. There was something terrible in his eyes, something I never wanted to see. It was hatred. It was hatred and vengeance and loathing and promising. Promising pain. There almost seemed to be a red gleam in his blue eyes from the fires that burned around us. "Dr. Daniels—"

I felt my entire body jolt. Fear, stronger than I had ever felt before, lurched through me.

"—blood is on your hands, Dr. Daniels."

I sucked in a gulp of smoke.

"_It is time you stopped running."_

"_Come then, Dr. Daniels. You think that you are blameless? You were never blameless in this __**war.**__"_

My eyes grew wider and wider, the smoke making them sting. They felt as if they, too, were on fire. Some part of me, the rational part, realized that this was not the real Germany. It couldn't be, could it? It couldn't possibly be the real Germany. Then, another part—the scared woman—could only think of the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I could only think of the voice that echoed in my head. It was his voice. My hand rose and I pressed it against my forehead, continuing to push myself back in a maimed sort of pathetic pull-and-push. Germany slowly prowled after me.

His mouth never opened, but I could hear his words:

"_You will tell me, Dr. Daniels...or there will be consequences."_

"_You were right when you said I would not harm you physically, Dr. Daniels. No, my way of getting information is a bit more drawn out. You see, I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Especially where you are concerned."_

I continued to move back, splinters gouging my hands. My head was pounding with pain from the back while it was getting more and more difficult to breathe. I was fading. I could feel myself fading. I was growing weaker. "Where—where—" He was upon me before I could even scream, towering over like some unconquerable empire. My breath caught. Slowly, he lowered himself down to kneel at my side and I didn't move. I was frozen by fear.

"You will tell me, Dr. Daniels. You won't have a choice." With a lightning quick motion, he reached out his hand and pressed against my broken leg. I screamed. "…You will, Dr. Daniels."

"_You will, Dr. Daniels."_

The world started to go black with the pain. I was losing consciousness and I didn't have the power to fight back. I didn't have the will to battling. I was fading. The pain was too much. The fear was making my heart beat too fast. I could see the fire in his eyes as I lost consciousness, a grim smile on his face. Not full of hateful joy or even victory. Just a bleak smile as if some terrible chapter had been closed.

My eyes opened and I looked around the space, hands still gripping the handrail. Breathes came in uneven spurts while my head was pounding with pain from the back to the front, throbbing. I could feel tears in my eyes. The meeting room was unharmed, unmarred by smoke and fire. The Nations sat in their seats with only four standing. My mind caught up to the situation quickly and I acted before I could think my actions through. I was on my feet in an instant, Johnny only a figment of my attention at my side. "Stop!" Everyone below went still with my yell. Frantic, I looked to where China was holding the globe out, ready for Germany to touch its surface. "Stop, don't touch it."

"Michelle?" Alfred question, concern lacing his voice. "What's wrong?"

"Who is she?"

"That's the crazy idiot who ran into me earlier!" I glanced over to where Prussia was pointing his finger up at me. "What're you doing here, Crazy Lady, huh? Is there a reason you're interrupting this meeting? Are you a spy? Are you a—"

My head shook and I refocused on the blond Nation below. "Germany, don't touch the globe. You really shouldn't touch the globe." He stared up at me with wide eyes, obviously unconvinced of my seriousness. I looked frantically over to where America was watching. He looked ready to run up to me at any second, ready to be the hero. Well, I didn't need a hero at this moment. What I needed was a diplomat that would keep the German Nation from touching that globe. "America. Trust me. Don't let Germany touch the globe. No one else can touch it. Don't do it. I can explain later, but please…" I let out a tired sigh and shook my head. My knees went weak and I started to fall, Johnny catching me at the last instant to set me in the chair.

"What happened?" He questioned in a low tone. My head shook. "You'll tell me, Michelle. You wouldn't interrupt a meeting with that kind of warning if it was nothing." Seeing that I was unwilling to give him any information about what I could only call a 'vision,' he turned his attention to the meeting room. "Germany. You know me, buddy." To my surprise, he shifted into fluent German. I couldn't understand what he was saying, but he looked sincere.

Below, I saw Germany slowly lower his hand.

"New York," America called up. Beside me, the State straightened his stance and looked toward his Nation. "Bring Michelle down here." Alfred turned his gaze to me and nodded, signaling that I was not in any trouble, just that he wanted to have me closer for the sake of something. For what, I couldn't quite say.

I eased myself up and took hold of New York's proffered arm. We moved off the balcony and toward a set of secluded stairs. I prepared myself for what I knew was coming. New York gave me a side-eye and grimaced at the bleak expression on my face. He sighed, "You have to tell me something, Shelly. You just went still, closed your eyes, then started crying. What happened?" His voice was hushed and hurried. "Tell me, Michelle."

"It was nothing," I shook my head and frowned. "It was nothing, Johnny. Leave it."

We reached the bottom of the staircase and he saddled himself in front of me, blocking my access to the door. "Damn it, Michelle. Stop this. Don't keep it all in again. Tell me what happened. Tell me now or so help me."

"I saw Germany…I saw Germany as…" My head shook. I saw Germany as the evil demon that he wasn't. I saw him as the merciless empire that he didn't want to be. It was chilling. It was frightening. And it was something that he didn't need to relive. Germany didn't need to deal with his own past. By my guess, he has dealt with it enough over the last seventy or eighty years. It was best to leave him be. It was best to keep him from recalling that time. If he did remember, there was no telling how he or anyone else would react. "You asked me to trust you once. And I did. Now, John, I'm asking _you_ to trust _me_. Don't let Germany touch that globe."

New York stared at me for a long moment, green eyes critically looking me over. I maintained eye contact, not wavering once in my decision. It that 'vision' had taught me anything, it was that I needed to keep my logical wits about me, when all else fails. I shifted and gestured toward the door, giving him a small smile as I did so. John straightened his stance and grimaced. "You're not playing fair, Michelle."

"How so?"

Before he could answer, a loud shout interrupted him. He spun on his heel and threw the door open. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the brighter lights of the meeting room. Near the door, it seemed as if Russia was standing guard—his pipe cane held between his two hands. I felt my heart race at the sight. He looked ready for a fight, ready to take down anyone who dared approach the door where New York and I were standing. My gaze shifted from him to Germany who stood only a few feet away. My stomach sank, the nausea seeming an instant reaction.

He held the globe in his right hand.

I felt my blood run cold.

China lay on the ground a few feet away, rubbing his jaw as if he had been struck. Prussia stood over him, his expression blank. It seemed that the whole gathering of Nations were shocked at these actions. No one seemed capable of a response. Some mouth even hung open.

"The hell just happened?" Denmark shouted. The tense silence broke.

"Germany whipped China's ass. That's what." Alfred responded in an awed tone. Britain shot him a quelling look, which he completely ignored. "The heck was that, dude? She _just told you_ not to touch the globe! What do you go and do? You touch the damn globe!"

New York positioned himself at an angle in front of me, seeming to fill in Russia's blind spot. Only…why in the world was Russia defending me with such a fierce look of determination on his face? I took a deep breath and looked to where Germany was standing, his eyes wide.

I could see the flicker of expressions all over his face. It was chilling, terrifying. There was outrage, hatred, loathing, fear, understanding, confusion, hurt, pain. Such a myriad of emotions that I couldn't begin to understand. He didn't look ready to attack. He didn't look as if he could move a single muscle to do so. Instead, he stood immobile. Prussia, who still stood over China, seemed to be just as still as Germany. I wondered, however vaguely, if Prussia was receiving memories as well.

"Germany! Germany!" A light, airy voice called over the deafening silence. Out of nowhere, a brunette appeared at Germany's side. He yanked on the man's sleeve, expression a little _too excited_. I figured immediately that he was trying to mask his worry. "Germany! Are you okay? You punched China! You shouldn't do that! Normally Germany is such a peaceful nation, even if their women are scary and their food isn't that good! Germany, I know! I know! You saw a fly on China's face! You had to scare it off. See, Germany—You're actually a really cool—

"Get…Get away from me, Italy."

Italy continued to ramble on and I could see the tension collecting in Germany's shoulders. "—guy. You saw that fly and bam! you killed it without a problem. You're so fantastico, Germany! When we get back, I will make you three bowls of pasta! Al dente pasta! It will be so good!"

"Get away from me, Italy!"

I acted without thinking again, stepping past where Russia was standing. Just before I could reach Germany, a hand locked around my upper arm. I turned back around, seeing the baleful expression on Russia's face. It was familiar—strangely enough—the way his cold expression became warm and endearing. He was putting on a mask. He was smiling with such lack of feeling that I felt a chill roll down my spine. "Listen to me, _dushenka_. Comrade Germany is not safe at the moment." I yanked at my arm, but his grip was like iron. His head shook just a little. "Michelle, you _will_ listen. Stay here." Stilling at the tone of his voice—the entreating tone—I shifted and watched as Italy was push away.

His arms flailed until he landed on his rump a few feet away. There was a flash of something—something unendingly dark—in his brown eyes. They flickered with hurt before he seemed to shrug it away for a smiling façade. I felt sick. "Germany! Your hand must have slipped, right?"

"Hey! The hell is your problem Kraut-breath! Don't push my brother like that unless you want to eat a knuckle sandwich with extra tomatoes!" I looked around to see a darker haired young man rushing up to the scene. His expression was severe, promising reprisal for any injury done to his brother. He rushed up to Italy's side and pulled him, a little harshly, from the ground. "You do that again and you'll find yourself in a hailstorm _of shit_!"

Germany almost seemed to take a step back, his eyes going wider and wider as he looked away from Italy and toward the rest of the congregated Nations. I could only imagine what he must be seeing. They were all staring in his directions, only a select few—those who stood at the front like America and Britain—that understood what was happening in his mind. He had regained the memories of that alternate timeline. And he was seeing the faces of those Nations that he had subjugated and, in some instances, beaten into submission. He was seeing the faces of those that he had tortured and imprisoned—like Denmark and Iceland, who stood off to the side with Norway and Sweden.

Prussia finally seemed to gain hold of his senses and his head turned toward where Germany was standing, his breathing growing harsher and harsher. "Bro—" Germany took a step back, eyes wild. Prussia's expression grew more severe and he lowered his chin. "Germany, it's not your fault. That was—"

"Nightmare," China answered. "It was a nightmare. All your darkest dreams come true."

"Stop," Italy cried. He pulled out of his brother's arms and positioned himself protectively at Germany's side. "Stop it. The so the blue-green ball gave him back some memories of this other timeline or whatever! That doesn't mean that he's bad! Stop. Germany is good. He's a good guy! You know how I know Germany is good? Because he makes good food. You can't be bad and make good food."

Germany hands went up to his hair and he pulled at the strands, looking more and more unhinged by the second. I felt myself twitch, wanting to help in any way I could. Despite that well-meaning, I could still feel the unfurling fear in my chest. I was terrified of the Nation in front of me. I was scared of what he did, in the past. And though that emotion was completely unfair, I couldn't help my reaction. I could have broken free of Russia's hold, but I chose not to. I chose to stay back.

"I—I didn't—I lost the…war. There…I was…_winning_?" He spun around and looked to Britain for the answer. "I—"

"Laid waste to much of my standing forces."

"Overtook the African front. _Me._" Another voice added from the side. I glanced over to see Egypt with his arms crossed over his chest. There was something odd in the way he was holding himself, as if he were ready for an attack at any moment. In fact, now that I noticed that tension, it seemed all of the Nations were holding themselves that way. As if they were prepared for another war to start where the last World-class war had broken off, right there in the meeting room. Someone needed to step in and talk everyone down. Someone needed to—

"I think all of you are acting like children," a voice spoke up from the far right. I turned to see a young man with shaggy blond hair standing with his hands on his hips. There was a certain air of authority about him. It seemed, for a single moment, that every Nation in the room was listening to him. "I don't know what you saw when you touched that globe, but it is not reality. _This_ is reality. Stop dealing with fantasy and deal with the real world, here. We have bigger issues at present than some old rivalry."

"It's more than rival—"

"I don't care! That time…Now, it is nothing more than a dream. You need to let it go and work on the present. Don't make me make you." I didn't know who he was, but he clearly knew how to mediate problems, if a little more forcefully than most. "Prussia, calm your brother down. Austria, Hungary. I want the two of you to go with them. North Italy, South Italy…Romano, see if you can calm down some. We do not need more tension in this situation. After you calm down, you will help with this situation, not hinder it." The darker haired of the two Italy brothers gave an irritable harrumph and muttered a string of curses under his breath. This earned a harsh look from the blond and he stomped off. "I'm calling the G8 to deal with this problem. At the moment, the rest of those Nations not involved will not participate. Unless the necessity dictates that we must step in."

Russia gave a curt nod and began to pull me off to the side, away from where Prussia was beginning to talk to Germany. I continued trying to look back, trying to make sure that he was alright. "Switzerland is the current Secretary-General. The G-8 has been called to order." I looked pointedly to where China was following along with the group. "China is honorary member."

"No one outside of the G8 will touch the globe. It is to be placed into the care of America until such a time as it is needed again. I would say to inform the remaining members of the G8. Do I make myself clear?" I glanced back to see Switzerland pulling a large gun from his belt. Several Nations nodded vigorously and made themselves scarce. He nodded resolutely, happening to glance in my direction. I averted my eyes immediately, unwilling to look him in the eye.

I had tried to stop it, but I couldn't. I tried to stop Germany from touching the globe so that he would be spared that kind of hurt. But I was too late. I turned back around just in time to find myself wrenched out of Russia's grasp. America had my wrist and was pulling me out of the door before I could say a word in protest. I felt anger flare up in me and I stopped, jerking my wrist free from his steel grasp. We were in the lobby by the time I was able to do as much and America turned in surprise, eyes wide.

"Don't manhandle me, Alfred. I'm a grown woman. Do _not_ yank me around like that."

"I just didn't want—" He stopped, cutting eyes over to where Russia stood with a pleasant smile on his face. "Dude, take a hike, will ya?"

"No, Comrade. I fine where I am." Russia looked to me and gave me a cautious once over. "It is good to seeing you alive, _dushenka_. I thought you dead."

I opened my mouth to respond, but was cut off by New York. He walked past to stand at America's side. "Well, she's not." I shot him a look for interrupting me, but I was soundly ignored. "C'mon. You guys can meet in the Aspen conference room. I'll have the files brought over. George can get Jane to tighten security around Germany, if you think."

"Do it," France spoke up out of nowhere. I turned to face the blond hair Frenchman. His expression was a little haunted though it seemed he was trying to hide it. "Place security on Germany and Prussia for the time-being."

A dark-haired Japanese man stepped forward. "That will not be necessary. Germany is not dangerous."

"It's not him being dangerous that I'm worried about, dude." America responded seriously. "Get Egypt in here, New York. He knows something and he's not saying. I want to know what it is." America ordered as he glanced to me. John laid a hand on my shoulder as he propelled himself into a jog to get the other Nation. "You're sitting in on this meeting, Shelly. Not really a choice now that the cat's outta the bag." He went to grab my hand, but stopped and withdrew. "Uh, right. Let's get over there now. Switzerland will be handling the rest of the Nations. We'll have everyone on alert until we get all of this figured out. Besides, he's probably the best to deal with Germany's…relapse."

"It wasn't a _relapse_," Britain spoke up. We all turned to look at him. His eyes were distant as he spoke, as if he were back during that time of the war…when all seemed lost. "He just saw his life flash before his bloody eyes. It could be that he didn't like everything he saw. Despite our current instincts, we should all be aware that Germany is not the same Nation he once was." He pursed his lips and shook his head. "I'm having just as hard of a time accepting that fact as the next bloke, but…We cannot fault him for the sins of a past that never happened."

"Sure we can." Russia commented. I glanced around to the other faces. They all seemed to wrestling that same issue. For them, now the war was fresh in their minds.

"It _did_ happen," China argued. "It happened and yet it did not. It was real and yet it was not."

"Stop spouting that Confusions-say bull…" America whined. "It's so_ totally_ not the time."

"His name Confucius not Confusions!"

"Whatever," America waved China off. "Everything just went to hell. Let's see if we can avoid the flames, okay?"

No matter what diplomacy was deployed or what rhetoric was used in this situation, I wasn't certain that burns could be avoided. The tensions of World War Two were fresh in the minds of all the major world powers. It was only a matter of time before those tensions boiled over into some international conflict. I was even sure if recovering Norway would help to ease these newly uncovered conflicts. No, the meeting room had exploded when Germany touched the globe—it just wasn't in the physical sense.

World politics had just been sent into disarray.

And I was standing at the epicenter…with a globe in my hand.

Somewhere in my mind though, I wondered if _this _was the goal all along. Whoever had taken Norway had to have known that a world meeting would be called in order talk over the issue. An abducted Nation would never be overlooked. They had to have known that someone else had the globe—if that was really what they were seeking. If they were seeking the globe, then they had to know what it possessed. They had to have known that it could return memories of that alternate timeline. They had to assume that the globe would be touched at the meeting. If that were the case, then they would have _wanted_ tensions to cause the Nations to put themselves on high alert.

My heart raced a little at the possibility—

—the possibility that the goal went far beyond a heist and a kidnapping.

—he possibility that the goal was instead something far most costly.

The three black-clad robbers…

They didn't just want the globe.

"They want war…" I murmured under my breath as I stopped cold. My heart was pounding as I turned to the window. The sun was setting on the horizon, casting an unsettling shadow across the horizon behind a line of flags that lined the road outside the United Nations Annex. Each of the flags blew in a fierce breeze that came in off the Hudson. I swallowed the bile that rose in my throat at the idea. I had to be wrong. I wanted so badly to be wrong. But I could see the logic behind it. "They want war." Images of fire and the sounds of screams echoed in my mind. The feeling of falling of that balcony filled my gut again. "They want war."

Outside, the breeze stopped and the flags went eerily still.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

HELLO! Welcome back guys. I missed all of you so much. Seriously. I hope that everyone enjoyed this chapter. There's a lot at work in it and I worked very hard on it. My conference presentation is now over and I am coming off hiatus. I will be posting chapters regularly again. No worries, I am not overloading myself and I would not return if I felt I couldn't handle this workload. The conference had me overwhelmed. It's over and now I am back! I wrote this at the airport during a long, unexpected layover.

If you have stuck around, thank you so much!

**Thank you everyone for your supportive reviews and messages! I appreciate every single word! Honestly, you people light up my day! Even the silent readers who are more comfortable remaining as such, I appreciate your support through your favorites and your attention. Thank you.**

**Announcing:** my new Tumblr. Please go to my profile page and follow me. I'm not all that interesting, but you can find pictures, facts from history, scraps from AMOT and AMOC, possible story bits, my general ramblings, and so on. If you interested, give it a look.

Thank you guys for reading and I will DEFINITELY be responding to reviews this chapter!

Please leave me some feedback! Thank you for reading and have a great week, everyone!


	12. Chapter Ten

**A Matter of Course**

**By: Dr. Cultural Studies**

**Chapter Ten: Price Paid**

* * *

_History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, but if faced with courage, it need not be lived again. -_Maya Angelou

* * *

Never before had I wished to throw America off a cliff. And that included the time _before_ I had met the personified nation. At that moment though, it seemed all too real of an option. He was being loud, obnoxious, and stubborn as he threw out more and more impossible plans. He had rid himself of his blazer nearly an hour prior, throwing it at me for safe-keeping. I was griping it with such strength that my knuckles were turning white. He was spitting out plans that made absolutely _no_ sense. In order to catch the thieves, we needed to set a trap that involved an overturned laundry basket, oil slick, and a sledgehammer. Like Mouse Trap. And, all the while, he held the most serious expression on his face. As if he really believed that the issues could be solved by such juvenile means.

While it seemed that most of the Nations were being patient with his constant jabbering of nonsensical plans, I felt my patience slowly beginning to wane. It had been an hour already. How were the others keeping their cool when America was just running his mouth for no good reason and _with_ no good reason?

The door clicked and opened. I turned my attention to it for some relief from Alfred's endless tirade. New York stepped into the room first, his gaze flickering over the calm faces of the Nations until his gaze landed on me. He let out a sigh and I sat a little straighter, not understanding his expression. It was bordering on sympathetic. After him, Egypt stepped into the room.

"Bout freakin' time!" America called from the front, his tirade about using a super-secret spy network to discover the identities of the 'bad guys' that had taken Norway. A few heads at the table rose, interest seeming to flood back into their bodies. I noticed that a couple had dozed off in the middle of it all. France yawned and rubbed his eyes, and upon noticing my attention, sent me a saucy wink. I looked back to New York immediately, resisting the urge to shake my head. "We've only been waiting _forever_."

"You left the room in chaos. I had to make sure that everyone made it back to their hotels and the airport safely. I had to do that while Jane and George were handling security." John stated as if it were obvious. "Did you all get anything figured out?"

"America has figured about twenty-nine different methods to help us arrive to the ultimate conclusion that… he's an idiot." Britain commented off-handedly with a wave of his hand. I withheld my snort, noticing the solemn nod of a few heads. "Well then, Egypt. What can you tell us?"

Egypt went still as a statue, carefully looking toward the table. "I fear that I do not understand."

"Oh, don't play coy, Egypt." France spoke up. He ran a hand through his long blond hair. "America believes you have knowledge of this…alternate timeline. So, enlighten us, mon ami."

I looked to where Egypt was standing. His back was steel-rod straight, hands held behind his back. There was a brief moment when his eyes flickered to me and I felt myself sit a little straighter. He looked uncertain, even if his expression showed no emotion. "I…do recall some details of this alternate timeline or world. I believe though that it is best left undiscovered." He nodded his head just slightly toward the other Nations at the table. "You recall history as it could have been written. Is that a pleasant memory to possess?"

"No," China answered immediately. "It is terrible. It is bad to know what could have been. In that alternate timeline, I was conquered by Japan. Of course, it is the bad memory." My stomach did a strange jolt. All of these Nations were struggling with what could have been, which was a dangerous notion to entertain. Even for humans. I couldn't imagine what that was like for a being that never aged. Meanwhile, I sat in ignored silence as an outsider. "Personal feelings do not matter. If the memories can bring the men to justice that abducted a Nation, then I want to remember."

Egypt pressed his lips together, looking thoroughly unconvinced.

"Is it really so bad, mon ami? Is it so bad to recall the way things could have been? What world was created and what that world like? Aren't those questions we always ask ourselves?" France stood from his chair and scooted it out, walking with an undeniable amount of confidence toward where John was standing. "Say, New York, do you have that_ tres belle_ globe from earlier? I would like to have my memories back, if you please."

John immediately glanced to America, almost as if he were seeking permission. Hesitantly, the State complied with France's request. He pulled the globe from under his jacket and held it out. France wasted no time in grasping it.

For as dramatic as I had expected his reaction to be, it wasn't. He merely closed his eyes and lowered his head. After a few moments, he nodded and released the globe, stepping back. There was a grim sort of understanding in the looks that the other Nations gave. They understood. They understood each other in a very human sense at that moment. The ones who could recall a very different world from their own.

"Well, that was not what I expected, but…I certainly cannot say that I am surprised." He lifted his head and I could see a flicker of pain cross his face before it disappeared behind an easy smile. I felt a chill run down my spine. France's smile was thin, breakable, and fake. Still every other Nation seemed to accept this at its value. They saw the mask for what it was and let France resume his seat next to Britain without question or query. His fingers steepled before his mouth, hiding the downturned corners of his lips.

A young man—looking to be Alfred's twin—stepped up to New York then and held out his hands for the globe. John only seemed to see him after a few moments, as if he could see right through a specter. I watched the exchange, noticing the way Alfred was casting an uncertain glance over at his 'twin' every now and then. My lips pursed and my brows drew together. Who could that be? America started to move, rounding the corner of the conference table. "Canada…Maybe you shouldn't—"

Just as America started to issue the warning, Canada's fingers wrapped around the globe. His eyes went wide and he gasped. Whereas before his expression had been soft, his eyes hardened and his lips flattened themselves into a very thin line. There was a moment when I thought that he would say nothing and simply slip back into the obscurity of the room, but instead he turned and focused his eyes on Alfred. "You were shot—You w-were—" His voice shook just a bit and he stopped himself, shaking his head. When he spoke again, his emotions were a bit better controlled. I imagined it was a part of the closeness of that wartime. To him, now the memories of the second World War were brand new and fresh. "America, you were shot."

"Yeah. It hurt like hell, too." Alfred nodded in calm confirmation. His hand ghosted over his abdomen. "I got better." He then let out a string of loud, raucous laughter that made me flinch. It seemed forced, but he continued anyway. "HAHAHAHA!"

"This is no time for joke," Russia spoke up for the first time in almost an hour. He smiled as if he were amused at Alfred's attempt for humor. There was a cold feeling to his eyes though. Irritation almost seemed to radiate off of him. Next to him, China sat a bit straighter. "We have serious situation."

"How many times am I gonna have the chance to use _that _one though, huh?" America questioned with a note of challenge in his voice. My eyes rolled and I repositioned myself for what felt like the fortieth time in that overly cushioned chair. My tailbone was beginning to ache. I was having a hard time remaining still, especially when it seemed nothing would get done. No matter how many times I wanted to speak up, I kept my thoughts to myself and stamped out my annoyance. I hadn't even told them my theory about the possibility for war.

"You're immortal, you absolute twit!" Britain shouted. "You can use it as many times as you wish! Now, sit down and hush up. We have to figure this out before any other humans are killed or worse, other Nations kidnapped."

The gravity of what Britain had just said hit me like a ton of bricks. He was placing the importance of the Nations above the worth of humans. My entire body tensed and I felt myself starting to move out of my chair. How could he say something so—A body appeared in front of me before I could spring out of my seat, blocking my view of the conference table. My eyes trailed up the khaki suit and brown tie to a pair of moss green eyes. Egypt stared down at me, face void of all emotion. I eased myself back down into the chair again, utterly confused by his sudden actions. Was he stopping me from speaking up or was this— Before I could say a single word, he turned toward the table and then glanced toward where New York stood.

"You forget that there is a human in the room, Britain." Egypt stated in a carefully level tone. I watched as he seemed to come to some conclusion, his nodding ever so slightly. Meanwhile, Britain shot to his feet and raised a fist. The movement was reminiscent of America whenever he got fired up over something. Egypt just turned to gaze at him.

"Don't tell me what I know and don't know, Egypt!"

"If you were more conscious of your surroundings, you would have noticed that Dr. Daniels—" I flinched, catching his attention momentarily. "—has been present this entire time." Egypt shifted his weight and narrowed his eyes before he started to walk toward New York. His movements were calm and graceful, his arm slowly rising as he moved. John held up the sphere, face set with determination. Meanwhile, Egypt wasted no time in touching the surface. As soon as the pads of his fingers rested on the lapis, his back stiffened. Something knotted within me, twisting and writhing. He was seeing that same past as everyone else…one where the African front had been lost. One in which he was conquered.

The weight of his knew knowledge seemed to thicken the air in that conference room. No one spoke, none willing to be the first to break that pressing silence. I glanced to where Britain was standing, his expression conflicted. America, too, seemed to hold the same sort of clashing emotions—whatever they were.

"Now you know what it feel like," China commented from where he sat with his arms crossed. Russia idly nodded beside him, smile actually seeming to become pleasant. "A war lost all because some girl decide she want to change history."

I felt my heart lurch, flopping in my chest. America flew to my defense in an instant. His voice was sharp and serious, a stark contrast with what it had been only a few minutes earlier. "Watch it, China. Michelle didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"Maybe she did not mean for it to, but it did. And it her fault. You cannot tell me otherwise." China shot me a look and I recoiled at his expression. I couldn't remember him from my time in that alternate timeline, but he could certainly remember me. That much was obvious in the expression of upmost loathing on his face. He did not respect me nor did he care for me. That was the look of someone who saw me as a nuisance and nothing more. I felt sick.

Silence hung over the room. And I came to the chilling conclusion that everyone agreed with him on some level. I didn't quite know how, but I had been the cause of the altered history, whatever those alterations had been. I was the source of their suffering.

Images flickered in my mind of my already regained memories. Most of them were terrifying nightmares—threatening words, dangerous situations, terrible reality.

Egypt's lightly accented voice shattered the fragile silence. It was far more subdued than I expected. "What are your plans? Will you wait until the entire world is in chaos once more before you decide to work together?" A couple jaws seemed to drop at his outspoken words. His shoulders shrugged and he started to turn around. I could see the profile of his face. "You want my knowledge? I have only one stipulation."

The other Nations stared, almost as if they could not comprehend Egypt's ultimatum. I shifted and his eyes flickered toward me. His sharp features seemed to ease their tension ever so slightly. The nervous energy in my gut made me uncomfortable. He knew me, but I didn't know him. And that was the most frustrating part of all this. My ignorance. My ignorance was my weakness and it was something that I could do nothing about. I couldn't just pick up a book to regain my knowledge. It was experiential, situational. I wondered if I would ever remember my past with these people, these characters.

These people. These Nations.

"Name it, comrade." Russia spoke up.

"Hold up! What if he wants a nuclear arsenal? Or an army of tarantulas? Or a gigantic rocket ship?"

"It's Egypt," France shrugged. "Do you really think that he is that unreasonable? He's not you, you know. Let us hear your demands."

"I demand that the globe be sealed away until it can be destroyed."

"What?" Each person in the room questioned, including myself. Of all the demands he could have made, this was not what was expected. I lifted myself shakily from my seat, taking a couple steps forward. Egypt turned to me, eyes void. I could tell though. I could tell that he was taking some sort of drastic action, something that I couldn't understand. Something I would have understood before. With the way he was looking at me, it was as if he expected a nod of approval or something that confirmed his action was the right one. Instead I asked the question that I was truly wondering: "Why?"

Egypt let out a breath and shook his head. "No one in this room can understand."

"Again," Britain sighed. "Enlighten us."

Egypt glanced to me again before he closed his eyes and lowered his head. Everyone went very still. His voice was very quiet when he spoke again. Though he didn't raise it any louder than a murmur, he could clearly be heard from across the room. "That globe is of Norway's creation. To be more accurate, it is imbued with the power of the trolls." He looked around the room until his gaze settled on Britain. "_All _troll magic comes at a cost."

Arthur opened his mouth, then he promptly shut it again. Then, he looked to me. "What was the price?"

"Britain—"

"Shut it, America. You've been avoiding the question." Britain's eyes were alight with fervor. "We need to know everything about our present situation. That includes whatever price Michelle paid to 'set things right.' What did you pay, Michelle?" My mouth opened to respond, but I found someone standing in front of me again.

"No."

Egypt's statement was certain, unyielding, and utterly dumbfounding. I stared at his back as if it were some foreign land that I had never laid eyes upon before. There was nothing I could do but gawk. He was placing himself there as a protective barrier, unwilling to move. Carefully, though my hands were shaking, I reached forward to place a hand on his shoulder. Only his head turned slightly to see me out of the corner of his eye. I turned to Arthur and shook my head. "I don't remember." China scoffed and I redirected my attention to him. "I'm being honest. I have amnesia. I wouldn't even remember you if you weren't identified as China by that plaque in front of you."

"Amnesia?" Russia questioned from the other side of the table. I could see the concern there, but he quickly hid it behind a serene smile. "How funny…"

"So, Egypt…You know the price Michelle paid?"

"I know her well enough to know what price she would pay." Egypt evaded the direct answer and shifted so that I was instead by his side instead of standing behind him. It seemed that he was obstinately remaining quiet almost as if he were trying to irritate the men at the table. There was a sense of silent determination about him. He wasn't going to give them a bit of his information unless they agreed to his terms. And that was that.

After a moment, Canada spoke up from where he stood with John. His hands rose in a placating manner, trying to ease the tensions in the room. "Look, I think we should agree with his terms, eh? It's the best option at this point. We need whatever information Egypt has. Besides, what's the harm of locking that thing away?" He gestured toward the globe that John held, distaste coloring his features. "Besides, it's full of things none of us really want to remember."

"Fine," America muttered at last. His attention turned to New York and he stood a little straighter. "Catch up with Switzerland. Tell him that he's on guard duty until all of this gets sorted out." John nodded as if he had just received an order from a commanding officer. He glanced to me just before he ran out of the room. I felt gravity seem to shift when he disappeared. My stomach lurched. John was gone and now I was left to float in the middle of the maelstrom of international conflict. America cleared his throat and I looked back to him with wide eyes. "Egypt, I think it's about time you started talkin', buddy. C'mon over here, Michelle. You look like you're about to pass out."

As if surprised by his words, Egypt turned to face me. I looked back at him. Just then, I realized that my hand was still on his shoulder and that it had been steadying me throughout the whole exchange. I released him immediately, as if he were on fire, and began to walk toward where America was standing. I could feel myself being watched by every person in the room. It wasn't until I arrived at Alfred's side that I noticed Egypt had followed me. America stiffened as I turned around to face the African Nation.

His expression was calm, serene, and careful as he began to speak. "Your enemies are not enemies. Your allies are not allies. The people you know are not the people you knew." My fingers began to tingle as he weaved these hints together. His eyes never left mine. "There are three of them. All of them are immortal. How could they not be? Norway is a powerful Nation. He would not lose such a fight." He reached forward and I stool very still. His hand brushed a piece of hair from my face. "You still don't know, do you?"

"Don't know what?" I breathed.

He let his hand drop to his side and he watched me carefully for a few moments. I had a hard time drawing a breath until I felt someone's hand rest on my shoulder. I turned to find America standing with a grim expression on his face. His eyes weren't on me. Instead, he stared at Egypt. "Of course she doesn't know." His voice was low and…deadly. "She doesn't need. to. know."

"You're wrong." Egypt shook his head.

"What do you mean, comrade?" Russia spoke up. "What doesn't Michelle know? What does she need to know?"

I looked between the two, nervousness flooding me. They looked to be in a battle of wills, neither yielding. America wasn't about to back down. "She's been through enough already. If you tell her that, she'll…No one needs to go through that. Okay? She doesn't need this right now. Not with everything else."

"You underestimate her," Egypt responded in kind.

"Bloody hell! Get it over with already! This is a waste of time!"

America glanced over toward the conference table, looked to me, and then sighed. That sigh was full of so much weight that I wondered if I was truly better of not knowing. He closed his eyes and lifted his hand to remove his glasses. "Look, Michelle…"

"This is not your world," Egypt stated simply.

I turned to him and felt my mouth open. Confusion flooded me. Of course this was my world. Going to other worlds was impossible. Still, the certainty in his voice and the expression on America's face made me question my conclusions. My body began to quiver. That…That was impossible though. What he said couldn't…be true. Egypt's eyes locked with mine and I saw the honesty. The hurt. The pain. He hated this. I hated this. I edged myself backward ever so slightly.

"This is not your world, Michelle."

"Not…" I trailed off, looking to the table for help. "What?"

Each Nation avoided my eyes. They knew what he was referring to, but they wouldn't help me understand.

Why did I never understand?

I looked to America. His expression was telling enough. Nevertheless, he spoke the words that made me stop breathing. I was shaking. "That's...Damn it! That's the price you paid, Michelle. You…You gave up everything…Everything you loved to—Oh man, to set history back on the right course. You…gave it all up. All of it." I continued to move away from them, eyes flickering to all the faces in that room. Only Egypt and America would look me in the eye. America appeared so utterly helpless as he stood there. Like he couldn't bring himself to move toward me. Like he couldn't bring himself to do anything but stare back at me with wide, blue eyes. "This…isn't your world, Shelly. It... it never was. That-"

Suddenly, it all seemed to make sense. My head began to nod unconsciously as I moved backward. My back struck the wall. I was breathing heavily. Corey. Momma. Donna. All of these people I knew, but I didn't know. I didn't know. The facts that I recalled incorrectly when I woke from that coma. Corey—my Corey— was in the Marines, not the Army. Never the Army. My Momma never owned a restaurant. She worked in the library system. My grandfather was still alive, living with his love, Harley Davidson. Jessie was dead. Dead. Jessie was dead, not alive. Donna never joined the military. She was pregnant and married. She did hair for a living. She was going to have a little girl. I felt my knees go weak and I collapsed to the floor. No one approached me. Not even America. I felt sick. So, so sick.

"This is not your world, Michelle. It never was." Egypt stated. I stared up at him. "_That_… was the price you paid."

* * *

**Author's Section**

Holy crap! That took some work. I needed this chapter to be shorter because a lot of things are going to be stemming from the revelations here. From here on out, things are going to be very emotional and interesting (hopefully, they've been like that already). I appreciate all the WONDERFUL reviews that have come my way over this past week! They light up my day.

Honesty time, things have been very difficult lately. Along with work and school, I have a lot of personal issues that have been taking up a lot of time. Hence the shorter chapter.**_ Updates may come with longer waits, once every couple of weeks._ **For that I apologize. Real life has been hitting me harder than usual and though this is my release, I have little time for it. I could use the support. To keep updated, please follow me on Tumblr. You can also find out what in the world is going on with me on there. Still, I will be very vague with details. That won't be up until tomorrow. I was lucky enough to get this posted.

**THANK YOU FOR READING!**

I hope everyone is doing well! **Please leave reviews/feedback.**


	13. Chapter Eleven

**A Matter of Course**

**By: Dr. Cultural Studies**

**Chapter Eleven: Grief**

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_No one ever told me grief felt so like fear._ – C.S. Lewis

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"This is not your world, Michelle. It never was. That…was the price you paid."

That statement fell heavily upon me as I stared at the intricate brocade pattern on the floor, gray and black. I could barely feel myself breathing. No, I couldn't feel myself breathing. I couldn't feel anything. My grief was beyond emotions. No tears fell from my eyes. No wails of despair left my lips. I just stared at the floor, bringing my knees up and resting my arms upon them. No matter how closely I was being observed, no matter how much I wanted to push myself past this, I couldn't. It was as if the world had been ripped from under me. The very earth I sat upon was rendered invisible.

I couldn't breathe.

I still couldn't breathe.

The only things that ran through my mind were all the facts that I got wrong.

All the things I should've known.

All the things I knew.

I didn't want to remember.

No, I had to remember.

Corey was so different. He was another person entirely. _My_ Corey was not _this_ Corey. My Momma was not this Momma. I didn't know these people I called "family." I didn't know them. My grandfather was still alive in my…my world. My world. In this one, he had died six months before "my" disappearance. And Jessie had been killed in action. _My_ Jessie had been…It had been a closed-casket service. I could remember. I could remember crying until I couldn't cry anymore. I could remember my old life. My life as it was. In my world.

I opened my eyes wider and my eyes momentarily focused. They felt full, but my cheeks were still dry. My face was hot; my cheeks were burning. I lifted my gaze from the floor.

Alfred—No, America—No, Alfred—His cobalt blue eyes were staring in my direction. He looked like he was about to cry, red-rimmed and full of tears. His glasses sat high on his nose as if he had just pushed them further up the bridge. I felt my throat close up and I redirected my attention to the right, barely focusing my sight enough to catch the pained expression on a face, two faces, three faces. I couldn't look at anyone. The same expression masked every face, save for two. China was watching me with a passive expression. And Egypt…My breaths were quick and short as I struggled to control myself. I wanted so badly to cry, to just lose it. To lose all control.

I wanted to _cry_.

I didn't want to be here. I looked to where Egypt was standing about ten feet away. His green eyes watched me with a detached expression. He didn't want to see me lose control. No one needed to see me lose control. If I lost control, I—I—My eyes swiveled toward the ceiling and I willed myself to be calm. Tears were welling in my eyes and refused to let one fall. Not one. I couldn't. I wouldn't.

My rapidly beating heart felt as if it were shaking my entire body. No, I couldn't lose it. If I lost it, then I would look weak. I would look vulnerable. I would look…I would never be able to _stop_ crying if I started. Taking deep breaths, I controlled myself.

Everything and everyone I ever knew: gone.

Everyone.

Lost.

"Michelle," a voice murmured nearby. I didn't look away from the ceiling, but I showed that I was listening by tilting my head just a bit. I didn't trust myself to speak yet. If I spoke, then I would lose focus and I would break down. I would _break_. He seemed to understand. His movements were slow and measured as he came to kneel beside me. "Now is not the time." I understood his meaning though it came off as a callous sort of statement. Now wasn't the time for my mourning, my despair, my hurt, and my pain. Now, we needed to find Norway and sort out whatever the Nations would be doing to find those responsible. Now, I needed to get myself together. "Take a moment to collect yourself and rise."

"Shell—"

"America," Arthur spoke up with a strange sort of authority in his tone. "Leave her be."

My eyes slipped closed and I could feel Egypt rising to his feet once more. My emotions slipped into the recesses of my mind. I imagined that I was putting those overwhelming thoughts, fears, and hurts into a box. I then placed it on a shelf and stepped away. I would take that box down later, when I was alone. Opening my eyes, I cleared my throat and took a deep breath. I had to remain strong. I had to battle through everything. Donny's killer was still out there. No matter what world was my world, Donny deserved justice. Norway needed to be found. And whatever balance existed before needed to be secured. I had to put on my professional façade.

Even though I still couldn't remember what had happened in the years I had been "missing," I knew that I had to be heavily involved. Especially if the Nations—the major players—knew of my existence. From what memories I could access, I slowly came to realize.

"The…" I cleared my throat again and ended up coughing. "Sorry. The only memories I don't have are those revolving around—around when I arrived in…this world?" I looked to Egypt for verification. I took another deep breath and completely shut out my emotions. I needed to be professional and I needed to overcome myself. I had to be strong. Stronger than anyone would ever expect of me.

Still feeling weak from the shock I had been dealt, I used the wall to pull myself up. America appeared out of nowhere at my side, his hand coming to cup under my elbow as his arm wrapped around my shoulders. I instinctually shrugged him off, white hot anger curdling in my stomach. There was no change in my expression, but he flinched when I looked up at him. He pulled his hands away immediately and took a step back with both hands raised.

He gaped in shock as I moved past him toward the table. My chin was level with the floor. I didn't look down or look away. I was focusing on my breathing.

In and out.

In and out.

"I—I—" Alfred tried. "Michelle, please…"

"Comrade Michelle is angry." Russia commented as a smile started to pull at his lips. He was saying it as if he were commenting on the poor weather. I glanced in his direction before shaking my head. He was baiting America at my expense and I didn't appreciate it. My attention shifted to where Britain was watching me carefully. He didn't like how I was responding to all this, I could tell. My back stiffened. "Careful, comrade—She is vicious when angered."

Arthur crossed his arms and gave Ivan a deadpan look. "As if I don't know that. I have been the victim of her anger numerous times, I'll have you know." I was tempted to tell him that he had only barely seen my anger in the past, but then…I couldn't remember the past. I could only remember that we weren't friends. Yet that was conflicting with the newer memories I had of his kindness. I couldn't quite place him at the moment and so I thought best to keep him at a distance.

"Can we focus, _s'il vous plait_? As much as I find it entertaining to watch all of your squirming, we have more pressing matters right now." France spoke up, redirecting the attention of the room. He unbuttoned the jacket of his white suit and sat down at the conference table. "Let's get some work done, oui? We have had enough drama for the time being."

"Michelle—"

I ignored him and moved toward the opposite end of the table, settling myself in the chair beside Canada. My lips formed a small, emotionless smile when Matthew looked my direction. There was a conflicted expression on his face before he set to scribbling on a yellow notepad.

"Michelle—"

"Not right now, Alfred." I looked up at him and frowned. "Please, not right now."

His hands dropped to his sides and he stared at me for a long moment, eyes searching for something. Finally giving up, he let out a sigh and returned to the other end of the table. "Alright, dudes!" The enthusiasm just wasn't there. "Alright—" He stopped and let out a breath. "Dudes!" His eyes flickered to me and I stared back at him blankly. "I—" America stopped, stared at me for a moment, and sank into his seat. His gaze settled on the tabletop and he fell into silence. There was something oddly powerful about that moment. All other Nations sat in quiet shock. Alfred wasn't speaking or taking charge. He was just staring at the table, almost like a scolded child.

"Well, Egypt—Out with it!" Britain gestured. I looked over to where Egypt was standing with his back still facing the conference table. "You have more information than what you've given. This is your time to—"

"Make myself useful?" He questioned as he turned around. "Not really one for the rhetoric, are you?"

"Why bother? Now, you said that the enemies are not enemies and that our allies are not allies? What does that mean? You said they're immortal. Does that mean that the three men are Nations? All Nations were accounted for with this meeting." Britain reasoned out while tapping his chin. "Our allies are not our allies?"

"Maybe he mean that someone is a spy," China offered.

"We wouldn't be knowing anything about the spies, would we? America?" Russia smiled brightly, looking to Alfred for an answer. There was a sharp edge to his tone though and that made me want to speak up and calm the tension. Alfred lifted his eyes from the table for a moment and leveled the large Nation a searing glance. I felt my stomach lurch. "Yes, I do know nothing about the spying."

"You better check yourself, Commie!" America threatened lowly.

"This is not the Cold War." Canada intervened. "It's not even chilly in here, so just calm down. Okay, guys?" His words went unheeded as the tension continued to escalate. I decided it was time to speak up. As soon as I did, China's gaze turned to me and he set to the arduous task of staring a hole through my soul and frankly, I was in no mood for it.

"Allies are not allies…Egypt, can you be more specific? Or are you unable to?" I glanced over to see Egypt's shrug. He didn't want to give too much information for fear of…what? Why wouldn't he give us more help in figuring out the identities of those murderers. "Why are you keeping silent on this?" Anger flooded through me and I turned to face China. I couldn't say if I was mad at him or the situation. Probably both. "I understand that you hate me and that you would rather see me dead than sitting in this chair right now." He jerked, surprised at my calm tone. "Honestly, I'm not sure what I did to piss you off. I can't remember anything. Right now though, why don't you act like the mature adult I am sure you actually are and _help_ with this situation? You're the eldest here. Surely you know something." My mouth snapped shut and I immediately regretted my words. I saw Russia's head swivel around faster than I could blink and his hand reached out to grab China's arm.

China glared at me. "Who—Who you think you are to talk to me like that?"

"No one. Just a pathetic _human_." I bit out in response. There was a chuckle to my left and I saw that France was laughing lightly as he shook his head. "A pathetic, inconsequential—" I saw Britain jerk his head around to stare at me " –human that no more wants to be in this situation than you want her involved. Well, that's our situation, isn't it?" I stared at China resolutely and couldn't find it within me to waver under his cold stare. I just…didn't care. I couldn't feel anything but frustration and anger.

China watched me for several tense moments before he nodded. "Fine. Millions of my people die because you change history. No matter if you try to change or not. No matter if they lived in end or not. _You_ were the catalyst. I blame you." China stated as if reading off a report. He was laying out the facts as clearly as he possibly could. I felt the words hit me like punches, knocking the air from my lungs. Someone's hand came to rest on my shoulder. China was being clinical in his explanations and I couldn't…couldn't fault him for that. If he could be professional, then so could I. "I hate you," he nodded. "I hate you for causing everything, for the bombings and the loosing war. I stand there. That is where I stand."

The hand on my shoulder tightened its grip for a moment and then fell away. I glanced to the left to see France's expression. It was clear of emotion, save for a calm sort of resignation. "I—" My voice shook and I stopped. Pressing my lips together, I closed my eyes and raised my head again. "I…accept your hatred." And in that moment, I was accepting all the repercussions of whatever I had done in that alternate timeline. That became very much obvious to those watching as I looked around the table. Arthur looked away, crossing his arms over his chest. America wouldn't look at me either, still staring at the table top. Only one Nation turned down my offer for guilt.

"I do not the hating you," Russia commented gaily. His smile widened. "Besides, all will become one with me one day, da? What is there to hate? I never could hating you, dushenka." I looked at him in surprise and I saw it there, under the surface. He was joking, trying to make the situation lighter.

"I'm not becoming one with you!" China raised his voice.

And, effectively, Russia had steered the conversation away from my 'guilt.' It happened so smoothly that no one else was the wiser for it. The corners of my lips ticked up and I gave him the slightest nod of thanks.

"Now, what are the thinking about these 'bad guy' as America called them? They are Nation?"

"No, they're not. All Nations were present at this meeting." Britain spoke up. He leafed through a series of papers before tossing one to the center of the table. "Every single sovereign nation has been accounted for, save for Norway. None of those Nations can be involved in Norway's kidnapping. A majority of those Nations also have alibis for either or both the museum heist and the abduction. It appears we are hunting three sub-Nations."

"Sub-Nations?" I questioned, not quite understanding the terminology. Sub-Nations as a term made it sound like something akin to sub-human. Surely they couldn't be referring to—

"States. Lands. Provinces." Canada murmured from my right side. I glanced to him and I could see that he was a tad uncomfortable being the one to explain this to me. "They're also called sub-Nations because they are largely subservient to the Nation that unifies them. It's the reason why the States must follow America's direct orders." I felt a little sick at that kind of definition and it appeared that Matthew wasn't quite liking it either.

"I fear it is not that simple," Egypt provided. I turned, surprised to find him at the opposite end of the table. When did he move down there? Had he been prowling around the perimeter of the room this entire time?

"_Do_ enlighten us, Egypt." Britain practically growled. "I'm getting quite tired of your runaround. Do not pretend that you are being at all helpful."

"I am being as clear as I can be," the African Nation returned calmly. "My gift is not one you should covet, Arthur. It is not a gift to envy."

"First," Russia grabbed the room's attention once more. "We are needing to find the—"

There was a series of three knocks at the door. I felt nervous energy fluttering through my chest. There was a sudden heat behind my eyes as my concentration on the situation was broken. My gaze shifted to the ceiling again as I struggled to maintain control. It wouldn't help to lose it now. It would only make things worse. Much worse.

Taking a deep breath, I looked toward the doorway. Standing there were three Nations who looked every bit as rough as I felt. Germany—the blond Nation from that 'vision'—was standing at the door, back as straight as possible. His expression was carefully neutral and controlled. The air seemed to go stale and I could almost literally feel the muscles coil in all of the seated Nations. Russia even started to rise from his chair, expression suddenly fierce. I felt my pulse skyrocket. There was about to be an international conflict and I was sitting in a front row seat.

"No! Nope! Uh uh! Everyone sit down, all of ya!" I flinched when America shot up out of his chair and positioned himself between the table and the newly-arrived Nations. It seemed that he had snapped out of his sad trance. I wondered what had accomplished that feat. "Trust me, dudes! I've had more time to think about this! When I first touched the globe, I wanted to hunt Germany down and—but, that's not him anymore, yo! He's really nice now and everyone needs to just chill out! Chill!" His eyes skittered to me and he quickly looked away. "Besides, we're gonna need their help too! I mean, Japan bombed the hell out of me, _shot me_, but I don't hate him. We're pretty cool now, right?"

Japan flinched at the mention and looked a little stunned. "Really, America-san?"

"Chyeah, dude! Who's gonna give me totally metal video games, huh?"

Italy actually bounced on his heels, pulling at Germany's sleeve. "You see Germany! Not everyone hates you! You were thinking that they all would hate you, right, but they don't! They see that you're really cool when you're not taking over the world. Well, you've always been cool to me, Germany! I just meant that for everyone else, you know! When you're not trying to take them over and—" Japan started to shake his head rapidly and I knew that someone had to intervene before Italy made it worse. Germany's stoic expression was beginning to crumple.

"Where did—What was his name? Was it Romano? Yeah, where did Romano go?" I questioned, drawing Italy's attention away from 'comforting' Germany. He looked at me for a moment before smiling brightly. I wondered if he had touched the globe like everyone else before he bounded up to lean across the table. No, he was practically laying on the tabletop to take my hands in his.

"Ah, you must be Michelle! Bella signora, I have not touched the globe because I do not want to remember any more horrible things! It is wonderful to meet you though. Germany has mentioned you and you did a good thing by trying to stop Germany from touching the globe! Even if it didn't work!" He reached for my hand and pulled it up to his face, rubbing the back of it there against the smooth skin of his cheek. "All of these Nations weren't mean to you were they? If they were, I can get Romano to yell at them. He yells a lot and he does not like it when men are mean to women." Italy smiled brightly and released my hand. "I know! Why don't we go find Romano now! I'm sure he would love that. He's with Spain and Belgium. They went to eat while everything settling down."

"No, Italy. She must remain here." Britain palmed his forehead.

"If you are just going to be mean to her, then she doesn't need to be here does she?" I gaped at the amount of sass Italy was showing. It was veiled underneath an airy façade, but it was clear that he wasn't going to put up with any outright rudeness toward me. And no matter how much appreciated that line of defense, I couldn't quite puzzle out _why_ he would go through the trouble of helping. He must have seen the confusion on my face because he held up a finger and grinned broadly. "Germany respects you. And if Germany respects you, then I respect you. Though…my respect might be a little…"

"Perky?" France suggested.

Surprised at Italy's insistence that Germany respected me, I looked around to where the blond Nation was standing. His blue gaze flickered over to me before he resumed staring straight ahead. He didn't seem to be able to look anyone in the eye. Meanwhile, it seemed that China had enough of the delay.

"Well, if you're joining, then join. We do not have time to waste." Japan moved to sit beside him at the table and the elder Nation gave him a glance. "I do not think it wise for you to sit next to your big brother today, Japan." Kiku Honda, as I read on his nametag, stopped and withdrew his hand from the chair before bowing slightly. He moved around the table to sit on the other side of Canada. He said nothing as he did so, accepting China's reaction easily. Still, I could see a roughness to his movements that suggested he was disturbed by China's baleful glances. "Germany, Italy. If you are staying, then sit down. Now."

"Germany, stay away from me." Britain stated coolly from his position at the table. I saw Germany's mouth open in shock before he snapped his jaw shut again. America started to squawk a response, but Arthur held up a hand. "This is for _his_ safety, America. You saw what happened in that conference room. That globe puts us in a wartime frame of mind. I can't say that I have recovered well enough to be within reaching distance of Germany at this point. Even without the globe, some of my citizens are _still_ hostile toward him. It's best that he keeps his distance for the time being."

Seeing the logic in what the British man was saying, Germany nodded in consent. "Ja. I will maintain my distance. Are there any others who have a problem with my presence?"

Without hesitation, France and Russia raised their hands. Russia placed an easy smile over his scowl and said in a very sweet voice. "Just so I do not have to stab you, comrade. It would not be the good, yes?" The way he said it sounded more like a threat than an affirmation of his good intentions. The recovered memories were still fresh and I could still see that he was primed for combat, eyes taking in all of the physical movements that Germany made. "We do not have pleasant memory, you and I."

"No," Germany agreed. "You are right."

"Speaking of 'not pleasant,'" France spoke up. "Where is Prussia?"

"He went with Spain! Spain can calm him down and you were in here! So you could not help to calm him down." Italy answered, pushing himself off the table. "He got some memories, too! Said that his side was hurting. They're going to take him to a medical center for treatment. Just to make sure he is okay." I flinched, looking down to where Russia was giggling. For some reason, I had the distinct impression that Russia had been the cause of that injury, or ghost injury as it were. "So, what is the plan? Are we going to storm the palace, because I do not want to do that! We could just…let them have Norway. He's not very interesting anyway! And his food is not all that good. What if we hang a white flag outside? Do you think they would understand that we surrender?" He wanted to…surrender? I glanced toward where Germany was shaking his head.

"No, we cannot surrender to these…hooligans. That is not an option. We will not abandon Norway to their clutches." He glanced around the table before walking forward. For a moment, he rested his hand on America's shoulder, who tensed momentarily. Alfred gave him a long, measured look before grinning. Germany then steadily made his way toward the end of the table, where he stood as if presiding over the conference once more. "These—"

"Baddies," America supplied helpfully.

"—villains must be dealt with accordingly. We will find them. We will recover Norway. And justice will be given to the family of the man who was killed. That is what will happen. No surrender. No fear. We will not let them get away."

"Do you have a plan then? We've already decided to deal with them. It's the planning that is proving the most troublesome." France gave a vague gesture with his hand. "Egypt knows more than he's telling." Egypt accepted that summation with a small shrug, his attention shifting to the window. "And practically no one is taking the lead."

All eyes shifted to America, who was always the type to take control. Though Germany likely was the type to lead the meeting, like he had in the General Assembly, the current situation left little room for his leadership and really, he looked too exhausted to execute it well. Alfred stood at the head of the table with his head down. It seemed that his energy from a few minutes before had faded. I felt my stomach lurch. He was still reeling from my actions nearly half-an-hour before. Just as I started to question myself, his eyes and head lifted. He looked to me and grimaced.

"We've got the security footage. I'll send that to my Intelligence Agen—"

"You, intelligence?" Britain snarked.

"Yeah, _me_. Intelligence." America returned immediately without hesitation. "We don't have the time for this, Britain." Arthur seemed to choke on nothing while France chuckled beside him. "We can at least get height and weight. We can get the reports from Norway's forces if—"

"I can get that information, comrade." Russia nodded. "I have channels to getting the information."

Everyone looked toward the large Nation and I heard Canada whisper a quiet, "I don't want to know."

"We'll fly out tomorrow morning from JFK. Oslo would be a good place to start. I'll keep Jane here working on the museum case. Any suggestions?"

"You're being so serious, America-san. No robots or superheroes?"

"Nope," he responded. His hands moved to rest on his hips. His gaze swiveled to me again and I stared right back at him. I didn't waver, didn't look away. A sick feeling entered my stomach and I struggled to keep it under control. Once again, I wanted to just cry and lose myself to my grief, but I didn't. I wouldn't. Not in front of him. Not at that moment. His head nodded to me. "I owe it to someone to take this seriously and I'm going to make good on it. Maybe then I can become a hero again." I stared back at him and felt the tears welling behind my eyes again.

A hand came to rest on my shoulder and I turned slightly, pulling my sight away from America. Egypt stared down at me. I couldn't seem to breathe under his gaze. My wet eyes dried and I found composure again. Somehow I understood the message he was trying to convey to me. Nodding my head, I turned back to face the congregated Nations. Egypt leaned forward and lowered his lips to my ear. I didn't flinch with his proximity, knowing that there was nothing more to it.

"Your allies are not your allies, Michelle. Your enemies are not your enemies. Trust no one." His words were whispered, but I could see France and Canada glancing toward us as if they could hear his words. More and more attention was garnered and the whole table was listening to our whispered conversation. Egypt had to be well-aware of that. It struck me then that he was doing this on purpose. "Michelle, trust no one."

"Hey! She can trust me!"

America went ignored. I could only focus on Egypt's words.

"Can I trust you?"

There was a moment of silence and he leaned closer. No one but I could hear his answer.

* * *

I walked as fast as I could toward the steps outside New York's home. It had been agreed that the G8 + 2 (myself and China) would travel to Oslo the next morning. Further than that, nothing much had been decided. There was so little to go on, so little evidence to support any radical moves. New York had returned and I had quickly left the room. I hadn't said a word to anyone since we left the United Nations Annex, aside from a quiet word of thanks when the door was held open for me by Canada. During the car ride, I had simply kept my gaze fixed on the sights outside of the window. I had watched the world pass by at a distance. New York had tried and subsequently failed to get me to talk. I kept my lips pressed together and just nodded my head to everything he said. Eventually, John stopped and left me to my silence.

"Michelle! Slow down!"

I didn't want to slow down. I just wanted to get inside the townhome. I wanted to feel that security. When I arrived at the top of the stairs, America bounded up and pushed past Johnny. My eyes closed tightly and I forced down the swell of irritation I felt in my gut. I couldn't yell at him. I couldn't lose it yet.

"Michelle—I'm—I'm sor—"

"Bloody hell, America! Could you be more—"

New York was muttering curse words under his breath as he unlocked the door. As soon as the door swung open, I darted inside and pulled the heels from my feet. My limp became more pronounced as I ran for the stairs. My tears were already starting to pour from my eyes. I could barely see where I was going. I felt myself losing control. My stomach was turning and twisting and writhing. Momma…Corey…Donna…Momma. Everyone. Everyone I ever knew. A sob loosed from my mouth before I covered it with my free hand. I started up the stairs. I couldn't do this anymore. I couldn't keep doing this.

"Michelle!"

Why?

Why?

With every step I took, every labored step, I arched myself forward more, hoping to keep the pain contained. I didn't want them to see me break. And I was going to break. I was breaking. Why? Why _my_ family? Why me? Why not someone else? Why was that my price to pay? Would I wish this on someone else? No. Yes. My head shook as I continued to stumble upward. No one else should ever feel this—

"Michelle!" Someone grabbed my wrist and turned me just enough to see my tear-filled face. America withdrew his hand as if I were on fire. I coughed out a sob, seeing the sadness in his blue eyes. Spinning, I threw myself up the remaining steps and struggled into my bedroom. As soon as the door was thrown shut, I pressed myself up against it and pulled my hands to my face. I sobbed. And sobbed. And cried and cried. My entire body went the force of my crying. My family was gone.

Gone.

_Gone._

The door vibrated and I heard a voice outside speaking to me. "Michelle, Shelly, I'll wait here until you're ready."

"What did _you do_?" New York bit out. "Damn it, America. What did you—"

"I told her," America hesitated. "I told her… the truth, New York."

Truth. He wouldn't know the truth if it struck him over the head. He had _lied_ to me, kept things from me. No matter how much I saw his reasoning, I couldn't quite overcome my anger. My bitterness. My guilt. My family…My Momma. Corey. Donna. Momma. My head shook and I curled myself inward, hands still covering my face. Even though I was alone, I wanted to hide. I wanted to hide my tears from the world, hide my weakness. No words can describe the sound that escaped my mouth. It was strangled, pained. A howl. My eyes felt tired and my body grew lethargic from the severity of my bawling. After nearly thirty minutes, I allowed myself to slip into darkness. Grief overwhelmed me and consumed me until my only refuge was sleep and even then…Even then, the nightmares were even more frightening than reality.

"_Michelle_…"

In the nightmares, I was trapped in a dark room with no escape. The moisture made my skin clammy and the darkness made me insane. Yes, the nightmares were worse than reality. In the nightmares, I was truly alone. Being _alone_ was what I feared most. I didn't want to be alone. Not there. Not in that darkness.

I had lost everything I ever cared for, but I wasn't alone.

I wasn't alone.

Was I?

I just had to keep telling myself that.

Still the nightmares came.

_Still the nightmares came._

* * *

**Author's Section**

I hope that everyone enjoyed this chapter. It was exactly as I wanted it. I got some explanation in there. Some character development. There are several parts of this chapter that will play roles later on in the story. Particularly Egypt's answer (which we don't know yet) and the identities of the "bad guys." We'll see where all of this takes us. Michelle deals with this exactly how I would expect her to. She's very private with her emotions and waits until she's alone to just let go. And I don't know if I communicated just how severe her sobbing is. It's that kind that makes you so tired afterward that you just want to sleep. She's going to be dealing with this and many other things throughout the rest of the story. And she will be confronting several things that happened in "A Matter of Time" that have yet to be discussed. Suffice to say that everyone should be listening to Egypt. He's saying some pretty powerful things. We also get some explanation for China's hatred. More is surely to come. Plus, we're leaving the country.

Thank you all for your amazing support through this time. A lot of this emotion in the story was, in some fashion, real. It has been very hard lately and every time I get a review from each one of you, I smile. **Seriously, thank you everyone! Thank you so much! So very much. For your support and for your kindness**. It means so much to me.

Updates will still be spaced out. Expect another in a few weeks' time.

Thank you for reading and **please leave me some feedback. I wish you all the best! Keep your chin up! **


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